."  .•»    • 

• 


v      V 


ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 


THE 


ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK, 


HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 


Italia,  oh,  Italia  !  thou  who  hast 

The  fatal  gift  of  beauty,  which  became 

A  funeral  dower  of  present  woes  and  past, 

On  thy  sweet  brow  is  sorrow  ploughed  by  shame. 

Yet,  Italy  !  through  every  other  land 

Thy  wrongs  should  ring,  and  shall,  from  side  to  side  ; 

Mother  of  arts !  as  once  of  arms ;  thy  hand 

Was  then  our  guardian,  and  is  still  our  guide. 


Hftftfon — EnlarflctJ. 


BOSTON: 

LIGHT  &  STEARNS,  1  CORNHILL. 
1837. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836,  by  LIGHT 
&  STEARKS,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 


CONTENTS. 


Advertisement,      7 

Introduction, 9 

SKETCHES. 

Rome, 13 

Florence, 57 

Naples, 79 

Venice, 93 

Italian  Journeying, 105 

The  Last  Sojourn, 119 

TALES. 

The  Disclaimer, , , .  .    .  129 

The  Sad  Bird  of  the  Adriatic, 141 

The  Rose-Colored  Packet, 167 

The  Florentine, 179 

MISCELLANY. 

Byrouia, 211 

Natural  Language, 219 

My  Home  Abroad, 229 

1* 


vi  CONTENTS. 

The  Amateur, 239 

A  Glimpse  at  Basil  Hall, 243 

The  Opera, 247 

Greenough, 255 

Modem  Italy, 2G3 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  following  pages  comprise  leaves  from  a 
Journal  in  Italy,  in  1833-4,  with  Tales  and 
Essays,  illustrative  of  the  local  and  social  fea- 
tures of  that  interesting  country.  The  unex- 
pected favor  with  which  the  specimens  that  have 
appeared  in  literary  journals  were  received,  has 
induced  a  revision  and  presentation  of  them,  in 
the  form  of  a  volume.  Should  this  little  work 
serve  to  revive  the  impressions  of  one  who  has 
sojourned  in  the  regions  of  which  it  speaks,  or 
pleasingly  inform  one  who  is  precluded  from  be- 
holding them — especially,  should  it  tend,  in  the 
least  degree,  to  awaken  in  any  mind  an  interest 
and  faith  in  humanity  as  there  existent,  or  its 
perusal  enliven  an  irksome,  or  beguile  a  painful 
hour,  the  author  will  feel  that  the  time  devoted 
to  its  production  has  not  been  spent  in  vain. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THERE  are  countries  of  the  globe  which  possess  a 
permanent  and  peculiar  interest  in  human  estima- 
tion— an  interest  proportioned  in  each  individual 
to  his  intelligence,  culture  and  philanthropy. 
They  are  those  where  the  most  momentous  histor- 
ical events  occurred,  and  civilization  first  dawned, 
and  of  which  the  past  associations  and  present 
influences  are,  consequently,  in  a  high  degree 
exciting.  The  history  of  these  lands  affords  one 
of  our  most  attractive  sources  of  philosophical 
truth,  as  the  reminiscences  they  induce  excite 
poetical  sentiment;  and  hence  we  very  naturally 
regard  a  visit  to  them  as  an  event  singularly 
interesting,  not  to  say  morally  important. 

And  yet  personal  impressions,  on  such  occa- 
sions, are  confessedly  dependent  upon  circum- 
stances which  are,  for  the  most  part,  uncontrolla- 
ble. There  are,  however,  certain  positive  meth- 


x  INTRODUCTION. 

ods,  the  adoption  of  which  will  not,  indeed,  bring 
about  a  complete  agreement  in  the  notions  and 
sentiments  of  travellers,  but  will  tend  to  a  much 
more  useful  purpose — that  of  inducing  a  satisfac- 
tory result  upon  their  own  minds.  Among  these 
are  a  sense  of  the  true  nature  of  the  comprehen- 
sive object  they  are  about  to  contemplate,  a  pa- 
tient determination  to  bestow  a  degree  of  time 
and  study  in  a  measure  corresponding  with  the 
subject,  a  preparedness  for  disappointment,  and 
an  unyielding  spirit  of  candor.  Such  a  state  of 
mind  will  especially  influence  happily  the  expe- 
rience of  the  transatlantic  sojourner  in  Italy,  since 
it  may  not  be  denied  that  many  things  exist. 
there,  to  qualify  the  enjoyment  of  the  enthusiastic 
expectant,  who  has  turned  the  eye  of  his  imagi- 
nation thither  through  the  long  and  magnifying 
space  which  divides  our  continent  from  the  old 
world. 

The  invalid  discovers  that  even  these  genial 
regions  are  not  exempt  from  wintry  influences; 
the  ardent  observer  must  grieve  to  find  the  most 
interesting  ruins  contiguous  to,  and  even  invaded 
by  the  scenes  of  ordinary  life,  and  the  more  con- 
ventional characteristics  of  the  country  fast  dis- 
appearing before  the  ever  increasing  encroach- 


INTRODUCTION.  xj 

ments  of  the  stranger  multitude;  while  the  bene- 
volent are  constantly  pained  by  the  sight  of  dis- 
tress which  they  cannot  alleviate.  Yet  perhaps 
these  very  drawbacks  tend  to  direct  attention 
more  completely  to  the  many  existing  sources  of 
satisfaction,  and  they  certainly  are  not  without  a 
moral  benefit.  Never  does  the  paramount  impor- 
tance of  the  innate  habit,  and  the  comparative 
worthlessness  of  the  outward  scene,  become  so 
self-evident,  as  when  we  thus  feel  the  superiority 
of  anticipation  to  enjoyment.  And  we  know  not, 
until  standing  by  the  spots  renowned  as  the 
scenes  of  mighty  exploits,  denuded  of  the  ex- 
haustless  drapery  of  fancy,  that  it  is  the  acts 
themselves,  with  all  their  beautiful  philosophy, 
which  alone  have  hallowed  these  portions  of  the 
earth. 

But  frequent  and  favorable  observation  will 
develope  the  legitimate  influences  of  Italy,  and 
render  us  less  sensible  to  untoward  or  disagreea- 
ble circumstances.  Antiquity  will  become,  in 
our  view,  more  sacred  ;  art  will  awaken  a  deeper 
interest;  society  will  discover  new  charms;  and, 
when  we  start  upon  our  homeward  pilgrimage, 
we  shall  perceive,  with  a  sensation  of  wonder, 
the  strength  of  the  chain  which  binds  us  to  the 


xji  INTRODUCTION. 

land,  and  realize  the  subtle  power  of  the  agencies 
which  have  so  silently  woven  it. 

The  impressions  of  an  individual  mind,  noted 
during  a  considerable  interval  of  time,  will  there- 
fore possess  more  of  this  deliberate  and  eventual 
character.  In  imparting  them,  it  seems  unwise, 
at  least,  to  run  into  the  common  error  of  portray- 
ing minutely  the  details  of  statues,  paintings  and 
edifices — descriptions,  which  often  have  the  effect 
of  exciting  without  satisfying  curiosity ;  while 
graphic  delineations  of  manners  and  customs 
have  been  too  frequently  and  faithfully  drawn  to 
be  attempted  in  the  present  instance.  The  aim 
has  rather  been  to  lead  from  particular  descrip- 
tions to  the  general  contemplation  of  such  sub- 
jects as  are  prominently  indicative  of  the  scenes 
and  intellectual  influences  of  Italy. 


SKETCHES, 


ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 


ROME. 


"  Yet,  this  is  Rome, 

That  sat  upon  her  seven  hills,  and,  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty,  ruled  the  world  !     Yet  these  arc  Romans. 
Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king  ! " 


IN  the  light  of  a  clear  atmosphere  we  stood  upon 
the  summit  of  the  Capitol,  and  thoughtfully 
gazed  forth  upon  the  city  with  its  mountain-wall 
circling  broadly  in  the  distance.  From  so  com- 
manding a  position,  we  were  enabled  to  expand 
our  idea  of  the  site  of  ancient  Rome,  into  a  sensi- 
ble conception  of  the  relative  localities  and  origi- 
nal aspect  of  her  scattered  and  dimly  defined 
remains. 

Directly  beneath  us  stood  a  massive  form, 
whose  sculptured  and  inscribed  surface  is  uni- 
formly tinged  with  the  melancholy  hue  imparted 
by  the  earth  which  so  recently  encrusted  it,  and 
deepened  by  the  lapse  of  ages.  And  yet,  beneath 


16  ITALIAN  SKETCH   BOOK. 

that  arch  have  earth's  most  splendid  pageants 
passed ;  eyes  bedewed  with  the  rich  tears  of 
grateful  exultation,  have  dwelt  upon  its  now 
defaced  splendor;  its  broad  foundations,  resting 
heavily  in  their  sunken  bed,  have  trembled  be- 
neath the  proud  tread  of  the  triumphing,  and  its 
concave  rung  with  the  inspiring  shout  of  a 
Roman  greeting.  It  was  the  triumphal  arch  of 
Septimius  Severus. 

Immediately  beside  it,  in  mournful  compan- 
ionship, rise  three  mutilated  columns,  all  that 
exists  of  the  noble  tribute  of  gratitude  raised  by 
Augustus  to  the  god  of  thunder,  after  returning 
unscathed  from  the  rush  of  his  awful  shaft.  A 
slower  but  not  less  sure  agency  has  not  passed 
negligently  by  the  monument,  and  the  naked 
triumvirate,  clustered,  as  if  in  the  "fellowship  of 
grief,"  but  feebly  represent  the  living  sentiment 
which  gave  them  birth.  The  same  number  of 
these  erect  and  solitary  relics,  lifting  their  bur- 
denless  capitals  in  air,  furnish  the  commencement 
of  an  outline  which  observation  may  continue  and 
imagination  embody,  of  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Sta- 
tor.  Cold  chroniclers  of  thrilling  times  are  they  ; 
senseless  spectators  of  \vhat  would  kindle  even  the 
unenthusiastic,  which  else  we  might  almost  envy. 
It  seems  as  if  something  of  pride  yet  lingered  about 
these  decayed  remnants  of  a  once  glorious  com- 
pany. They  bore  the  vaulted  roof,  which  echoed 
the  most  eloquent  outpourings  of  moral  indigna- 
tion ;  they  stood  around,  silent  and  stern,  when 


ROME.  ]7 

about  them  were  the  not  less  inflexible  forms  of 
the  Roman  soldiery,  and  the  sudden  gathering  of 
her  alarmed  citizens ;  and  within,  the  deliberate 
and  imposing  presence  of  the  accuser,  and  the 
pale  countenance  and  hurried  glances  of  the 
accused  ; — for  it  was  here  that  Cicero  condemned 
Cataline.  The  temples  of  Concord  and  of  Peace, 
the  one  boasting  eight  remaining  columns,  and 
the  other  three  fragmentary  arches,  next  attracted 
attention  and  suggested  similar  reminiscences. 

But  soon  we  were  obliged  to  quit  a  scene  so 
absorbing  in  its  suggestive  influences,  to  wander 
among  the  dense,  ranges  of  modern  buildings,  and 
descry,  here  and  there,  a  few  pillars  or  other 
remains  of  what  once  stood  forth  contributing 
their  now  isolated  symmetry  to  the  formation  of 
a  beautiful  and  perfect  whole.  The  arches  of 
Titus,  Constantino  and  Janus  respectively  occu- 
pied and  interested  us,  particularly  the  former, 
from  the  sacred  vessels  and  symbols  of  the  Jewish 
temple,  exhibited  in  basso  relievo,  upon  its  inte- 
rior surface.  The  niches  of  the  last  are  dispos- 
sessed of  the  statues  which  once  adorned  them  ; 
the  bronze  fastenings  which  connected  the  stones 
are  gone,  and  broad  gaps  mark  the  violence  with 
which  they  were  extricated.  In  the  vicinity,  we 
attentively  perused  the  little  square  arch  erected 
by  the  jewellers  of  the  Forum  to  Septimius  and 
his  wife,  and  passing  on,  observed  the  pillars  and 
site  of  the  temples  of  Vesta  and  Fortune  trans- 
formed into  churches. 
2* 


18  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

When  we  found  ourselves  near  the  wonderful 
old  aqueducts  contiguous  to  the  walls,  we  were 
long  amused  with  the  peculiarities  and  impressed 
with  the  antiquated  features  of  these  strange  and 
extensive  remains.  From  some  elevated  posi- 
tions, we  gained  a  view  of  the  neighboring  moun- 
tains, lifting  their  undulating  forms  beneath  the 
vapory  masses  of  the  dim  atmosphere,  and  reflect- 
ing in  faint  yet  rich  tints,  the  few  rays  of  sun- 
shine which  struggled  through  the  leaden  clouds. 
We  had  seen  no  general  view  more  congenial 
with  the  ruins  or  more  exciting  to  the  associa- 
tions of  Rome. 

On  another  occasion  we  left  the  city  by  the 
Appian  Way,  and  were  mindful  of  the  circum- 
stance of  St.  Paul's  having  entered  by  the  identi- 
cal road.  After  a  considerable  walk,  we  reached 
the  tomb  of  the  Scipios,  situated  by  the  road- 
side, and  the  entrance  not  distinguishable  from 
other  similar  gate- ways,  except  by  the  inscription. 
Entering  this,  we  soon  came  to  the  vault,  secured 
merely  with  loose  wooden  doors,  and  having  no 
distinctive  beauty.  With  a  guide  and  tapers  we 
explored  the  dark  and  chilly  avenues  of  this 
tomb,  pausing  here  and  there,  to  con  the  many 
inscriptions  which  exist  upon  the  walls.  Two  of 
the  sarcophagi  are  in  the  Vatican,  but  one  or  two 
yet  remain.  We  soon  hastened  from  this  damp 
and  melancholy  sepulchre,  whose  earthy  floor 
was  worn  by  the  feet  of  many  curious  pilgrims, 
like  ourselves,  and  pondering  upon  the  contrast 


ROME.  jg 

between  the  men  who  once  reposed  there,  their 
probable  anticipations  of  their  country  and  the, 
present,  we  extended  oui;  walk,  and  penetrated 
far  into  the  labyrinthine  catacombs  beneath  the 
church  of  St.  Sebastian. 

At  length  we  arrived  at  the  nob'e  square,  with 
its  sweeping  colonnade  and  old  obelisk,  which- 
are  about  St.  Peter's.  Having  entered  that  edifice, 
and  immediately  passing  through  a  side  door,  we 
commenced  ascending  an  inclined  plane  which 
winds  round,  is  bricked,  and  continues  forja  long 
distance  until  it  brings  us  out  upon  th6  rdof. 
This  wide  space,  with  its  several  cupolas,  lias 
been  aptly  compared  to  a  small  village.*  We 
soon  entered  the  first  and  second  interior  gallery 
of  the  dome,  and  thence  looked  down  from  an 
immense  height  upon  the  variegated  marble  floor, 
or  immediately  around  upon  the  coarse  mosaic 
figures.  Still  ascending,  we  reached  the  lan- 
tern, and  obtained  a  most  comprehensive  view, 
embracing  the  city,  the  campagna,  the  distant 
snow-covered  mountains,  with  a  glimpse  of  the 
Mediterranean;  and  having  stood  in  the  copper 
ball  which  surmounts  the  whole  building,  we 
descended.* 


*  The  necessity  of  attempting  a  description  of  this  truly  indescribable 
building  is  most  happily  superseded  by  the  unrivalled  paintings  of  Pa- 
nini,  recently  purchased  by  the  Boston  Athenaeum.  Let  any  one  in- 
tently gaze  upon  the  delineation  of  the  interior  of  St.  Peter's,  and 
imagine  the  space  which  lies  unrevealed  in  perspective,  and  he  will 
obtain  a  more  definite  idea  than  any  words  can  convey. 


20  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

At  one  visit  to  St.  Peter's,  the  several  scenes 
presented  most  effectually  aided  me  in  realizing 
the  vastness  of  the  buUdirig.  Two  of  the  chapels 
were  filled  with  children  receiving  Sabbath  in- 
struction, whose  singing  resounded  pleasingly 
through  the  expanse.  In  one  corner,  some  lads, 
seemingly  designed  for  the  priesthood,  were 
loudly  engaged  in  a  dialogue,  the  purport  of 
which  was  an  exposition  of  the  church  cere- 
monies ;  these  were  eagerly  listened  to  by  a 
surrounding  crowd.  Around  the  circular  and 
illuminated  railing,  which  is  about  the  descent 
to  the  tomb  of  the  great  apostle,  kneeled  many 
female  figures,  and  another  knot  were  clustered 
beneath  his  bronze  image,  and  fervently  kissing 
the  worn  foot;  while,  scattered  upon  the  far- 
spreading  pavement,  and  bending  at  the  numer- 
ous shrines,  were  many  devotees  apparently 
absorbed  in  prayer.  The  confession-boxes,  too, 
were  unusually  occupied,  and  the  whole  area 
thickly  studded  with  the  figures  of  those  whom 
curiosity  or  devotion  had  brought  thither.  And 
yet  these  numerous  and  variously  occupied  hu- 
man beings  seemed,  in  no  degree,  to  lessen  the 
apparent  space  enclosed  by  those  immense  walls 
arid  that  exalted  dome,  but  rather  to  increase  the 
impressi veness  of  the  whole.  I  ever  gratefully 
remarked  the  peculiar  mildness  and  genial 
warmth  of  the  atmosphere.  It  is  even  pretended 
by  some  of  the  inhabitants,  that  this  phenomenon 
may  be  ascribed  to  the  heat,  which  the  dense 


ROME.  21 

walls  acquire  during  summer — a  heat  so  great 
and  so  well  retained  as  to  continue  partially 
latent,  and  be  evolved  during  the  few  weeks 
when  comparative  coolness  prevails.  Many  cir- 
cumstances, however,  contribute  to  the  produc- 
tion of  so  pleasing  an  effect,  particularly  the 
admirable  exposure  of  the  building  to  the  full 
influence  of  the  sun,  which  beams  through  one 
or  another  of  its  many  windows,  during  nearly 
the  whole  day,  while  the  arrangement  of  the 
entrances  almost  precludes  the  admission  of  the 
external  air. 

But  it  was  my  special  delight  to  visit  St. 
Peter's,  not  critically  to  examine,  but  to  yield 
myself  freely  to  its  sublimity  and  beauty.  Some- 
times I  would  rest  in  front  of  the  monument  to 
the  last  of  the  Stuarts,  to  sympathize  in  the 
mournful  expression  of  its  basso  relievo  angels  of 
death,  extinguishing,  as  if  in  sadness,  the  torch 
of  life ;  or  pause  in  admiration  of  the  lions  of 
Canova  surmounting  the  tomb  of  Pope  Clement 
XIII.  As  the  setting  sun  shone  gorgeously 
through  the  glory,  over  the  main  altar,  and  lin- 
gered upon  the  gilded  cornices  of  the  wall,  it  was 
mysteriously  exciting  to  gaze  on  one  of  the 
splendid  mosaic  copies  of  the  most  eminent  origi- 
nals ;  for  instance,  that  of  Thomas  satisfying  his 
doubts.  The  perfect  serenity  of  our  Saviour's 
countenance,  the  determined  inspection  of  the 
incredulous  apostle,  and,  above  all,  the  sad,  yet 
mild  and  affectionate  expression  of  John,  riveted 


22  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

my  gaze  and  touched  my  sensibilities.  I  could 
almost  believe  that  I  saw  a  tremulous  play  of  the 
muscles,  or  living  softness  of  the  features,  as  they 
were  thus  revealed  in  the  twilight. 

It  was  surpassingly  interesting  to  roam  through 
the  quiet  and  rich  precincts  of  this  magnificent 
edifice,  with  an  elevating  sense  of  its  excellence 
as  a  place  of  religious  enjoyment.  There  is  a 
freedom,  a  nobleness,  a  grandeur  about  St.  Peter's, 
allied  to  intellect  and  sentiment  in  their  higher 
manifestations.  Within  no  structure,  perhaps, 
does  the  human  form  dwindle  to  greater  apparent 
insignificance ;  but  in  few  spots  does  man  yield 
more  spontaneously  or  legitimately  to  a  sense  of  his 
capacity  for  excellence.  The  idea  that  the  build- 
ing, which  is  filling  and  delighting  his  spirit,  was 
planned  by  the  intellect  and  reared  by  the  labor 
of  his  species,  and  the  thought  of  that  Being  to 
whose  praises  it  is  devoted — all  this  suggests 
itself  with  the  view  and  its  enjoyment. 

Indeed,  familiarity  with  the  splendid  temples 
of  worship  for  which  Italy  is  remarkable,  rather 
augments  than  diminishes  the  spontaneous  admi- 
ration which  a  first  inspection,  of  them  excites ; 
or  rather,  the  primary  emotions  of  pleasure  melt 
into  a  calm  sentiment  of  satisfaction,  far  more 
favorable  to  a  discriminating  view  and  just  im- 
pression. The  still  but  most  efficient  teachings 
of  those  three  happy  influences,  painting,  sculp- 
ture and  architecture,  seem  here  combined  for  the 
most  felicitous  ends.  I  could  not  but  often  think  of 


ROME.  23 

it  as  one  of  those  consoling  and  redeeming  things, 
Avhich  modify  all  the  evil  in  the  world,  that  these 
were  places  dedicated  to  Catholicism,  hut  open  to 
all  and  at  all  times ; — places  for  reflection,  devo- 
tion arid  thought,  where  one  can  wander  con- 
templatively— the  painted  windows  imparting  a 
mellow  light  in  which  the  pictured  and  sculp- 
tured forms  seemed  living  things,  and  the  notes 
of  the  chanters  falling  in  reverberated  echoes 
upon  the  ear — and  worship  after  his  own  heart, 
or  muse  holily  till  the  fire  burns. 

It  was  on  a  day  marked  by  that  deep  azure, 
that  seemingly  penetrable  density  of  the  sky,  so 
often  celebrated  by  poets  as  the  most  enchanting 
natural  feature  of  southern  Italy,  that  we  were 
early  on  our  way  to  the  Esquiline  hill.  Upon 
its  summit  stands,  in  comparative  solitude,  the 
church  of  St.  Pietro  in  Vinculi,  built  to  contain 
the  chains  of  the  great  apostle  whose  name  it 
bears.  The  effect  ever  derivable  from  simplicity, 
is  signally  exemplified  upon  entering  this  chaste 
building ;  for  its  interior  architecture  opens  at 
once  upon  the  vision,  and,  in  its  simple  grandeur, 
imparts  a  far  more  delightful  impression,  than  is 
often  obtained  from  more  extensive  and  gorgeous 
constructions.  The  form  of  the  Basilica  is  here 
admirably  preserved,  the  arched  roof  being  sup- 
ported by  two  rows  of  beautiful  columns,  and 
the  whole  space  unbroken  by  any  intermediate 
arches.  These  columns,  as  well  as  the  pavement 
of  the  sacristy,  were  originally  obtained  from  the 


24  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

baths  of  Titus ;  the  former  are  remarkably  im- 
pregnated with  sulphate  of  lime,  so  as  to  emit  a 
sulphurous  odor  when  slightly  rubbed.  Behind 
the  altar  is  a  richly  wrought  marble  chair,  proba- 
bly a  consular  seat,  obtained  from  the  same 
ruins.  The  idea  that  Cicero  might  once  have 
occupied  it,  occurred  to  us,  and  increased  the 
interest  with  which  we  viewed  so  pleasing  and 
authentic  a  Roman  relic.  Most  of  the  pictures 
and  frescos  are  illustrative  of  St.  Peter's  impris- 
onment and  angelic  enfranchisement;  and  within 
two  brazen  and  embossed  doors  are  preserved  the 
sacred  fetters,  which  are  exposed  to  view  only 
once  a  year. 

But  the  grand  attraction  which  had  drawn 
us  to  this  church  was  a  renowned  work  of  art—- 
the statue  of  Moses  by  Michael  Angelo.  This 
colossal  figure  at  once  evinces  the  workmanship 
of  a  peculiar  genius,  the  design  differing  wholly 
from  what  is  familiar  in  statuary.  There  is  a 
muscular  power,  a  grandeur  of  outline,  which 
sufficiently  indicate  the  author.  Indignation  and 
awful  energy  are  distinctly  discernible  in  the 
heavy  frown  and  stern  expression  of  God's  chosen 
messenger  to  a  guilty  and  erring  people. 

The  Capuchin  convent — an  example  of  another 
class  of  churches — imparts  a  very  tolerable  idea  of 
the  dreariness  and  sternness  of  a  genuine  monastic 
retreat.  The  lay  brother  who  conducted  us  looked 
wonderfully  thriving,  and  was  withal  surpris- 
ingly affable  for  an  old  denizen  of  the  damp  and 


ROME.  25 

gloomy  apartments  which  he  so  complacently  dis- 
played. The  church,  though  by  no  means  mag- 
nificent, contains  two  frescos  of  great  interest : — 
one  representing  the  archangel  Michael  triumph- 
ing over  Satan,  whose  dark  brawny  form  seems 
completely  subdued  beneath  the  light  foot  of  his 
.beautiful  conqueror;  the  other,  a  rough  represen- 
tation of  St.  Peter  walking  on  the  waves — one 
of  the  most  ancient  examples  of  this  species  of 
painting.  Indeed  this  convent  is  many  centuries 
old,  and  the  very  hue  and  primitive  material  of 
the  Capuchin  garb  comport  admirably  with  the 
antique  appearance  of  the  whole  building  and  its 
contents.  But  the  greatest  peculiarity  is  the 
cemetery  beneath.  A  number  of  arches  extend 
some  distance,  against  the  walls  of  which  are 
piled  an  immense  number  of  the  bones  of  the 
deceased  Capuchins.  In  spaces  left  about  mid- 
way, are  stretched  skeletons,  clad  in  the  habit  of 
the  order,  and  others  stand  in  various  parts  of 
the  awful  repository,  while  the  ground,  composed 
of  "  holy  earth,"  transported  at  great  expense 
from  Jerusalem,  is  marked  as  the  last  resting- 
place  of  the  later  dead.  The  very  lamps  which 
hang  from  the  walls,  are  composed  of  bones;  and 
the  same  material,  distributed  most  fantastically, 
furnishes  meet  accompanying  ornaments.  Per- 
haps this  kind  of  burial,  if  such  it  may  be  called, 
is  one  of  the  rarest  in  practice  by  moderns.  The 
effect  by  torch-light,  when  an  interment  takes 
place,  must  be  impressive  in  the  extreme  ;  though 
3 


26  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

with  the  broad  light  of  day  shining  through  the 
windows,  the  scene  seemed-  more  hideous  than 
morally  striking;  nor  can  one  easily  feel  that  the 
intended  honor  is  conferred  upon  the  unbroken 
skeletons,  by  permitting  them  to  stand  holding  a 
card,  upon  which  is  inscribed  the  name  and  age 
of  the  deceased,  like  guardians  of  the  mournful 
piles  around  them,  in  which  are  merged  the 
remains  of  their  less  distinguished  brethren. 

We  crossed  the  Tiber  in  a  broad  barge ;  and 
during  the  few  moments  which  intervened  ere 
our  walk  recommenced,  we  were  naturally  led  to 
contrast  the  turbid  waters  and  the  dim  earth 
around  us,  with  the  same  scene,  in  its  transcen- 
dent aspect,  as  existing  in  the  familiar  picture  of 
our  fancy.  The  one  was  the  plain  appearance 
of  neglected  and  perhaps  degenerate  nature;  the 
other,  impressions  derived  from  nature's  glowing 
commentator,  the  poet.  Passing  by  a  retired 
path  through  the  fields,  we  soon  came  in  view  of 
a  circular  fortress,  (the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo.) 
now  chiefly  used  as  a  prison,  but  originally  the 
tomb  of  Hadrian.  And  certainly,  when  its  solid 
proportions  were  decked  with  the  numerous 
statuary  ornaments  which  once  adorned  them, 
it  must  have  formed  a  glorious  final  resting-place 
for  a  Roman.  There  is  a  striking  and  melan- 
choly inconsistency  observable  in  this,  as  in  many 
instances,  in  the  modern  appropriation  of  ancient 
monuments.  So  much  more  honorable  is  it  to 
the  general  or  at  least  to  the  better  sentiment  of 


ROME.  27 

mankind,  to  leave  unmarred  the  few  remnants 
of  a  nation's  greatness,  when  not  one  of  her 
children  exists.  There  is  surely  a  kind  of  sacri- 
lege in  disturbing  works  consecrated  to  the  dead, 
for  purposes  of  selfish  pride  or  narrow  utility. 
The  beauty,  the  interest,  the  blessed  inspiration 
which  so  often  hallow  these  ruins,  are  thus 
invaded,  while  no  commensurate  advantage  is 
obtained.  Have  not  as  many  smiles  of  ridicule 
or  sneers  of  reproach,  as  pious  feelings,  been 
awakened,  by  the  view  of  the  apostle's  figures 
surmounting  the  triumphal  pillars  of  Aurelius 
and  Trajan?  And  who  can  behold,  without 
regret,  the  mausoleum  of  the  mighty  dead  trans- 
formed into  a  tomb  for  the  most  wretched  of  the 
living? 

We  ascended  a  long  flight  of  steps,  entered  a 
square  and  corridor,  and  were  soon  in  the  Mu- 
seum of  the  Vatican.  It  were  vain  to  endeavor 
to  describe  what  an  impression  of  the  richness  of 
art  is  inspired  by  the  first  general  inspection  of 
this  vast  collection  of  her  redeemed  trophies ;  and 
far  more,  to  paint  the  vivid  and  elevating  concep- 
tion of  her  power  which  dawns,  brightens,  and 
finally  glows  in  the  bosom,  as  face  after  face  of 
thrilling  interest,  figure  after  figure  of  embodied 
nature,  and  gem  after  gem  of  exquisite  material 
or  workmanship  attracts  the  admiring  eye;  all 
unanimated  by  one  spiritual  principle,  and  yet 
so  legitimately  the  offspring  of  the  highest,  and 
so  perfectly  significant,  as  to  awaken  wonder, 


28  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

enkindle  delight,  and  finally  win  love.  We 
devoted  a  .season  to  the  inspection  and  admira- 
tion of  the  time-worn  frescos,  which  exist  upon 
the  walls  of  the  Camere  of  Raphael.  Constan- 
tino's victory  is,  indeed,  a  splendid  battle-piece. 
But  of  all  the  figures,  none  struck  me  as  grander 
than  the  group  representing  the  miraculous  defeat 
of  the  ravager  of  the  temple,  struck  down  by  a 
cavalier,  and  two  angels,  at  the  prayer  of  the 
priest.  Most  of  the  countenances  here  depicted 
are  separate  and  noble  studies.  All  the  frescos 
were  partially  designed  and  executed  by  Ra- 
phael. They  present  a  worthy  but  melancholy 
monument  to  his  genius,  impaired  as  they  are  by 
age,  and  marred  by  his  untimely  death.  Yet 
artists  of  the  present  day  are  continually  study- 
ing these  dim,  though  most  admirable  remains, 
and  find  in  their  contemplation  the  happiest  aids 
and  incitements.  Notwithstanding  this  speaking 
testimony  to  departed  excellence,  as  well  as  that 
which  beamed  in  the  admiring  looks  of  the  gazers 
around,  there  was  something  of  sadness  in  the 
very  air  of  rooms  that  bore  the  name,  and  shone 
with  the  embodied  talent  of  the  beloved  and 
early  dead,  which  forced  itself  irresistibly  upon 
the  mind,  and  tinged  with  mournfulness  the 
gratified  thoughts. 

But  it  is  when  we  stand  for  the  first  time  in  the 
presence  of  that  being,  if  aught  destitute  of  sen- 
sation deserve  the  name — it  is  when  the  eye  first 
rests,  and  the  heart  first  fastens  with  instinctive 


ROME.  29 

eagerness  upon  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  that  we  feel 
the  triumph  of  human  art.  And  there  springs 
up  a  rich  sentiment  of  satisfaction,  not  only  that 
the  poetical  in  native  feeling,  the  pure  in  taste, 
and  the  exalted  in  thought,  are  conscious  of 
unwonted  gratification,  but  because  we  rejoice  in 
the  spiritual  nobility  of  our  common  nature:  we 
glory  in  the  thought  that  the  senseless  marble 
radiates  the  beautiful  and  deep  expressiveness  of 
intellectual  life  at  the  call  of  human  genius,  and 
we  are  soothed  by  the  testimony  thus  afforded  to 
the  immortality  of  what  we  most  love  in  our- 
selves and  kind;  for  we  feel  that  such  followers  of 
nature  are  allied  to  its  Author,  and  may  humbly, 
but  legitimately,  aspire  to  yet  higher  teachings 
than  are  evolved  from  the  physical  universe. 

I  entered,  on  a  fine  clear  day,  the  large  enclosed 
tract  called  the  Gardens  of  Sallust,  being  the  site 
of  that  beautiful  historian's  villa  and  grounds. 
There  are  a  few  ill-defined  ruins  here  situated, 
supposed  to  be  those  of  a  temple  dedicated  to 
Venus  Erycina,  and  of  the  mansion,  or  its  ad- 
juncts. The  general  aspect  presented  during  my 
wanderings  through  this  extensive  enclosure,  was 
more  in  accordance  with  the  idea  previously 
formed  of  the  country  than  any  before  obtained. 
The  fertility  of  the  grounds,  green  with  varied 
shrubbery,  and  occasionally  beautified  with  field- 
flowers,  and  thickly  planted  with  vegetables, 
among  which  groups  of  laborers  were  actively 
engaged,  afforded  remarkable  evidence  of  the 
3* 


30  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

actual  mildness  of  the  climate ;  while  occasional 
glimpses  of  an  old  aqueduct,  or  wall,  gave  to  the 
scene  the  surpassing  charm  of  antiquity.  Con- 
stant blasts  of  cold  wind,  in  which  the  dry  reeds 
rattled  sullenly,  and  the  snow-capped  Apennines 
in  the  distance  were,  however,  sufficiently  indica- 
tive of  the  season.  The  free  air  and  command- 
ing situation  of  this  domain  are  well  adapted  to 
foster  that  concise  and  clear  energy,  which  so 
highly  distinguishes  Sallust.  If  this  was  the 
favorite  retreat  to  which  he  retired  to  compose 
his  history,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  found  in 
the  situation  and  his  employment  greater  satis- 
faction than  could  be  gleaned  from  the  enslaving 
luxury  of  the  city,  which  lies  so  attractively  at 
the  foot  of  his  paternal  mount.  It  was  a  pleasant 
thought,  that  this  very  spot  is  that  which  be- 
guiled his  early  ambition  from  the  hazardous 
efforts  of  a  political  arena,  to  the  quiet  and  digni- 
fied employment  of  an  elegant  historian.  And 
in  contemplating  the  result  of  this  author's  wise 
choice,  and  comparing  his  with  the  lives  of  many 
of  his  equally  gifted  countrymen,  a  new  proof  is 
afforded  of  the  surpassing  excellence  of  well- 
directed  literary  labor.  More  peaceful  and  ele- 
vated passes  the  existence,  and  more  certain  and 
purely  succeeds  the  renown  of  the  useful  and 
excellent  writer,  than  that  of  the  most  successful 
aspirant  for  immediate  popularity.  There  is,  too, 
a  beautiful  completeness  in  the  works  and  fame 
of  Sallust,  such  as  seldom  marks  the  memory  or 


ROME.  3] 

the  labors  of  modern  writers.  Confining  himself 
to  one  sphere,  and  intent  upon  comparatively  few 
subjects,  he  shone  pre-eminently  in  the  one,  and 
threw  over  the  other  a  light  and  vigor  of  delinea- 
tion, which  render  his  works  not  only  universally 
interesting,  as  just  and  vivid  chronicles,  but  as 
most  attractive  illustrations  of  the  capacities  of 
his  native  language. 

I  proceeded  at  a  similar  season  forth  from  the 
city,  by  the  spacious  and  beautiful  entrance  of 
the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  towards  the  Ponte  Molle. 
When  we  reached  this  celebrated  bridge,  the 
beauty  of  the  adjacent  country  and  distant 
scenery,  as  well  as  the  associations  of  the  spot, 
detained  me  in  long  and  delightful  contempla- 
tion. On  the  one  side  rises  Monte  Mario,  crowned 
with  a  verdant  line  of  lofty  cypresses,  and  on  the 
other,  far  away,  stand  the  hoary  Apennine  hills, 
while  beneath  runs  the  swift  and  turbid  Tiber. 
The  picturesque,  arched,  and  heavy  bridge  on 
which  I  stood,  still  retaining  portions  of  its  an- 
cient material,  and  the  pervading  Sabbath  still- 
ness, gave  vividness  and  scope  to  the  grand  scene 
of  action,  which  memory  and  imagination  con- 
jured up  and  arrayed  upon  its  massive  surface, 
and  along  the  broken  banks  of  the  river.  But, 
happily,  in  viewing  the  scene  of  Constantino's 
victory  and  miraculous  vision,  we  are  not  left  to 
unaided  fancy  in  an  attempt  to  renew  the  view 
preserved  in  history.  We  have  but  to  recall  the 
almost  living  delineation  of  Raphael,  to  arrive  at 


32  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

a  strong  conception  of  what  could  otherwise  be 
but  vaguely  and  variously  fancied.  It  is  on  such 
occasions  that  we  learn  to  recognize  one,  among 
our  many  obligations,  to  genius  and  art.  Gazing, 
after  the  lapse  of  centuries,  upon  the  renowned 
battle-ground  where  tyranny  received  a  signal 
overthrow,  from  a  Christian  warrior  eminent  for 
victory,  and  finding  nought  but  the  altered  aspect 
of  nature  and  a  few  decayed  relics  of  art,  we  can 
yet  rehearse  the  history  and  the  song,  and  ponder 
the  picture,  till  they  realize  the  time-buried  events 
of  antiquity. 

It  was  one  of  those  days  when  a  pensive  still- 
ness pervades  nature — the  sky  overclouded,  yet 
threatening  no  rain,  the  sun  peering  dimly  forth, 
and  a  quiet,  almost  sad  in  its  lifelessness,  brood- 
ing over  the  sullen  fields  and  declining  foliage — a 
day,  in  short,  the  melancholy  language  of  which, 
brings  something  of  pleasure  to  the  man  of 
anxious  temperament,  and  to  whose  meditative 
influences  even  the  practised  worldling  not  un- 
willingly yields  himself— a  day,  on  which  the 
student  instinctively  turns  from  his  book  to  pon- 
der ;  the  active  denizen  of  the  busy  or  gay  world 
is  unwontedly  and  unwittingly  thoughtful ;  and 
many  a  day-dreamer  or  philosophical  sportsman, 
like  old  Walton,  wanders  longer  through  the 
fields,  and  indulges  in  deeper  imaginings  and 
more  protracted  reveries.  Such  a  season  was 
peculiarly  adapted  to  the  purpose  for  which  I  had 
assigned  it — a  visit  to  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella. 


ROME.  33 

The   very  thought  of  it  brings  to  mind  Childe 
Harold's  characteristic  description : 

"  There  is  a  stern  round  tower  of  other  days, 
Firm  as  a  fortress  with  its  fence  of  stone, 
Such  as  an  army's  baffled  strength  delays, 
Standing  with  half  its  battlements  alone, 
And  with  two  thousand  years  of  ivy  grown, 
The  garland  of  eternity,  where  wave 
The  green  leaves  over  all  by  time  o'erthrown ; — 
What  was  this  tower  of  strength  ?     Within  its  cave 
What  treasures  lie  so  locked,  so  hid  1 — A  woman's  grave. 

This  celebrated  ruin,  one  of  the  most  satisfac- 
tory, as  regards  its  authenticity  and  preservation, 
among  all  the  Roman  antiquities,  is  situated 
about  a  league  from  the  centre  of  the  city,  upon 
the  Via  Appia.  Its  circular  form  and  remarkably 
dense  walls,  composed  on  the  exterior  of  marble, 
now  partially  decomposed,  proclaim  its  pristine 
magnificence.  The  obscurity  which  veils  the 
history  and  character  of  her  whose  ashes  it  once 
contained,  renders  it,  to  one  at  all  given  to  vague 
imaginings,  more  eloquent  than  if  it  were  the 
concomitant  of  a  most  interesting  and  elaborate 
chronicle.  The  inscription  possesses  the  same 
sublime  simplicity,  which  is  one  of  the  noblest 
indications  of  ancient  Roman  greatness,  discov- 
erable in  her  monumental  remains.  As  if,  in 
announcing  the  tomb  to  he  that  of  Cecilia,  wife 
of  Crassus,  and  daughter  of  Metellus,  enough 
was  expressed  to  convey  every  adequate  impres- 
sion to  the  beholder,  of  whatever  age  or  country  ! 


34  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

The  near  kinswoman  of  two  Roman  citizens; — 
this  one  fact  was  deemed  a  distinct  indication  to 
posterity  of  the  actual  nobility  of  the  entombed, 
while  one  glance  at  the  splendid  sepulchre  would 
convey  ample  testimony  to  her  worth  and  ^loss. 
But  even  we  of  later  times,  who  can  smile  at, 
while  we  admire  such  perfect  confidence  in  the 
simple  greatness  of  citizenship  and  individual 
character,  and  who  can  gaze  with  the  coldness 
of  curiosity  upon  such  a  relic,  even  we  can 
scarcely  fancy  any  record  capable  of  exciting 
such  awakening  sentiment.  It  comports,  in  its 
brevity,  with  the  great  lesson  it  teaches — the 
rapid  flight  and  levelling  influence  of  time ;  and 
designating  a  double  ruin,  it  affords  a  degree  of 
knowledge  which,  if  extended,  would  but  carry 
out  and  define  where  vagueness  is  desirable. 
For  free  scope  is  thus  given  to  a  species  of  con- 
jecture, which  it  is  mournfully  pleasing  to  in- 
dulge. Standing  by  the  massive  remains  of  such 
a  mausoleum,  of  which  we  can  only  affirm  that 
it  was  reared  to  the  memory  of  a  Roman  wife 
and  daughter — what  trait  of  energetic  beauty,  of 
affectionate  devotion,  of  moral  courage,  which 
enters  into  the  beau-ideal  of  the  female  character, 
may  we  not  confidently  ascribe  to  this?  What  a 
life  of  secluded,  yet  elevated  virtue,  what  a  death 
of  solemn  dignity  might  not  have  been  hers ! 
How  large  a  part  might  she  have  taken  in  refin- 
ing, ay,  and  nerving  the  spirit  of  husband  and 
child  and  brother — in  producing  that  obsolete  and 


ROME.  35 

wonderful  being,  a  Roman  citizen !  And  if  aught 
of  such  fancies  is  correct,  how  like  her  earthly 
destiny  to  that  of  innumerable  of  her  sex,  who 
live  in  the  exercise  of  thoughts  and  sentiments 
which,  if  developed  through  more  conspicuous 
channels,  would  be  productive  of  deathless  re- 
nown ;  but  whose  self-sacrificing  ministrations, 
though  immeasurably  influential,  are  as  unseen 
as  those  of  a  guardian  angel,  while  the  memory 
of  their  authors  is  only  embalmed  in  heaven,  or 
darkly  transmitted,  like  that  of  Cecilia  Metella, 
by  the  simple  record  of  their  names  and  kindred, 
upon  the  monument  which  conscientious  affection 
has  reared. 

Of  all  impressions  from  antiquity,  derived  from 
the  ruins  of  Rome,  none  is  more  vivid  and  last- 
ing than  that  inspired  by  the  Coliseum,  when 
viewed  under  circumstances  best  calculated  for 
effect.  Such  are  the  quiet  and  mystery,  the 
shadowy  aspect  and  mild  illumination  of  moon- 
light. Availing  myself  of  a  season  like  this,  it 
was  with  something  of  awe  that  I  approached 
to  partake  of  a  pleasure  in  its  very  nature  melan- 
choly, yet  in  the  highest  degree  attractive  to  the 
imagination,  and  calculated  to  awaken  many  of 
the  deepest  sentiments,  especially  those  by  which 
the  fellow-feeling  of  our  race  is  nurtured  and 
sustained.  And  as  the  scene,  in  all  its  actual 
beauty,  environed  by  associations  more  impres- 
sive than  its  past  magnificence,  and  reposing  in  a 
light  more  tender  than  gleamed  from  the  eager 


36  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

eyes  which  once  shone  out  from  its  now  dim 
arches,  broke  upon  my  sight,  I  seemed  to  have 
come  forth  to  hold  communion — not  with  the 
material  form,  but  with  the  very  spirit  of  anti- 
quity. There,  its  massive  walls  circling  broadly, 
pre-eminent  in  lingering  pride,  stands  the  Coli- 
seum. As  the  monarch  of  ruins,  its  dark  outline 
seems  denned  with  most  commanding  prominence, 
while  surrounding  objects  are  lost  or  blended  in 
shade.  Its  many  arched  recesses  are  rendered 
still  more  obscure  by  the  veil  of  shadow,  or  par- 
tially revealed  in  the  congenial  light.  Through 
some  of  them  the  silent  stars  may  be  seen  at 
their  far-off  vigils  in  the  heavens,  and  again  a 
fragment,  which  the  hand  of  time  has  spared, 
abruptly  bars  the  view.  Over  some,  the  long 
grass,  that  sad  frieze  which  antiquity  ever  at- 
taches to  the  architecture  of  man,  hangs  motion- 
less, and,  as  a  lattice,  divides  the  falling  moon- 
beams, or  waves  gently  in  the  night  breeze.  But 
it  is  when  standing  beneath  one  of  those  arches, 
and  vainly  scanning  the  length  of  the  half-illu- 
mined corridor,  or  looking  down  upon  the  grass- 
grown  area,  marked  by  a  single  path,  that  a 
sense  of  the  events  and  times  of  which  this  ruin 
is  a  monument,  and  its  suggestions  the  epitaph, 
gradually  gains  upon  the  attention,  like  the  home 
thoughts  which  a  strain  of  familiar  music  has 
aroused.  The  gorgeous  spectacle  of  Rome's  con- 
gregated wisdom  and  beauty  thronging  the  vast 
galleries,  now  lost  or  crumbling  through  age,  the 


ROiME.  37 

glitter  of  wealth,  the  pomp  of  power,  the  eager- 
ness of  curiosity,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  varied 
passions,  which  once  rendered  this  a  scene  of 
unequalled  pageantry — all  come,  at  the  call  of 
memory,  to  contrast  themselves  with  the  same 
scene  now,  clad  in  the  solemnity  of  solitude  and 
decay. 

But  yet  another  retrospection,  inducing  deeper 
emotions,  occupies  the  mind,  and  throws  over  the 
scene  a  higher  interest.  What  an  amount  of  hu- 
man suffering  have  these  dark  walls  witnessed ! 
Could  they  but  speak,  what  a  tale  of  horror 
would  be  unfolded  !  How  often  has  man,  in  all 
his  savage  or  his  cultivated  dignity,  been  aban- 
doned in  this  wide  area  to  the  beasts  of  the 
forest — more  solitary  when  surrounded  by  his 
unpitying  kind,  than  when  alone  with  the  lordly 
brute,  in  his  desert  domain  !  How  much  of  hu- 
man blood  has  this  damp  earth  drunk,  and  how 
often  upon  its  clammy  surface  has  the  human 
form  been  stretched  in  agony  or  death !  Nor 
was  this  the  theatre  of  effort  and  wo  only  to  the 
physical  nature.  Who  can  estimate  the  pangs  of 
yearning  affection  which  have  wrung  the  depart- 
ing spirit,  the  feeling  of  utter  desolation  with 
which  the  barbarian  has  laid  down  his  unsup- 
ported head,  and  died  in  the  midst  of  his  enemies? 
Who  can  distinctly  imagine  the  concentration  of 
every  sentiment  in  that  of  the  love  of  existence, 
which  has  nerved  the  arm  of  the  combatant,  and 
the  stern  despair  with  which  he  has  at  length 
4 


38  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

relinquished  his  dearly  sold  life?  Far  less  might 
one  hope  to  realize  the  deep  energy  with  which 
the  martyr  to  his  faith  has  here  given  proof  of  its 
power.  There  is  something  holy  in  a  spot  which 
has  witnessed  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  existence 
to  the  cause  of  Christianity.  Of  beautiful  and 
sublime,  as  well  as  terrible  spectacles,  has  this 
been  the  scene.  Where  has  youth  seemed  so 
pure  in  its  loveliness,  or  manhood  so  noble  in  its 
might,  or  age  so  venerable  in  its  majesty,  as  here? 
If,  in  this  ruined .  amphitheatre,  humanity  has 
been  most  debased,  by  the  despoiling  hand  of 
cruelty,  where  has  she  exhibited  more  of  the  sub- 
limest  of  her  energies — the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice? 
Often  as  this  air  has  w^afted  the  sighs  and  groans 
of  suffering  and  remorse,  has  it  not  likewise  borne 
upward  the  prayer  of  faith,  and  ihe  thanksgiving 
of  joyful  confidence  ?  Though  glances  of  ferocity 
and  revenge  have  been  turned,  in  impotent  ma- 
lignity, through  this  broad  opening  to  the  smiling 
sky  above,  how  often  have  eyes  beaming  with 
forgiving  love,  or  fixed  in  religious  fervor,  looked 
into  its  blue  depths,  from  the  awful  death  of  the 
Coliseum ! 

And  yet,  while  the  abandonment  and  decay  of 
Flavian's  amphitheatre  plainly  indicate  the  de- 
parture of  those  ideas  and  customs  in  accordance 
with  which  it  was  reared,  the  question  forcibly 
suggests  itself  to  the  observer  of  its  remains,  has 
the  principle,  which  sustained  so  long  an  insti- 
tution like  this,  utterly  and  forever  departed  ? 


ROME.  39 

Have  we  nothing  in  our  experience,  resembling 
what  seems  to  have  originated  in  a  deeper  senti- 
ment than  caprice,  and  from  its  long  continuance 
and  popularity,  has  an  apparent  foundation  in 
our  nature?  The  reply  to  such  self-interroga- 
tions is  affirmative.  What  student  of  humanity, 
or  observer  of  man,  does  not  recognize  the  same 
principle  operating  eternally  ?  Those  who  hold 
the  system  of  Christianity,  in  its  purity,  hold  the 
whole  philosophy  of  the  principle.  Individual 
man  has  arrayed  against  him  the  varied  force  of 
circumstances  without  and  passion  within.  Of 
the  insidiousness,  the  power  of  these  opponents, 
who  is  ignorant?  And  there  are,  too,  specta- 
tors— too  often  as  heartless,  curious,  and  cold 
lookers  on,  as  those  which  thronged  the  galleries 
of  the  Coliseum. 

Next  to  the  Coliseum,  as  an  architectural  re- 
main, is  the  Pantheon.  Its  magnificent  dome, 
antiquated  and  immense  pillars,  and  old  pave- 
ment, combine  to  realize  the  high  anticipations 
with  which  it  is  visited.  The  proximity  of  this 
grand  building  to  the  scenes  of  ordinary  life, 
exposed  to  the  sounds  and  influences  ever  present 
in  populous  cities,  and  especially  marred  by  the 
emblems  of  the  popular  faith,  and  surrounded  by 
the  filth  of  a  market  place,  are  circumstances 
which  strike  one  most  disagreeably,  and  break  in 
most  inharmoniously  upon  his  cherished  associa- 
tions. 


40  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

The  ruins  called  the  "  Baths  of  Caracalla"  are 
massive  and  broken  walls,  indicative  of  former 
magnificence  only  from  their  number.  Rank 
weeds  have  quite  overgrown  the  space  which 
they  enclose.  All  the  decorations  and  luxurious 
arrangements  are  gone ;  the  former  are  either 
destroyed,  converted  into  ornaments  for  modern 
churches,  or  preserved  in  the  public  museums. 
As  one  walks  amid  these  deserted  remains,  a 
sense  of  solitude  and  mournfulness  powerfully 
affects  him,  even  beneath  the  cheerful  light  of 
noon-day.  The  extensive  site  of  these  baths 
realizes,  in  a  measure,  our  ideas  of  the  state  of 
elegant  luxury  to  which  the  Romans  had  attained. 
The  Baptistry  of  St.  Constantine.  a  small  octago- 
nal building,  contains  several  pillars  of  red  por- 
phyry, and  two  brazen  gates,  taken  from  these 
baths. 

The  summit  of  the  Palatine  Hill  is,  however, 
occupied  with  ruins  still  more  remarkable,  even 
considered  as  architectural  vestiges.  So  com- 
plete is  the  deformity  and  decay  which  time  and 
violence  have  worked  upon  that  luxurious  abode 
of  royalty,  the  palace  of  the  Csesars,  that  no 
observation,  however  critical,  can  discover  any 
evidence  of  former  splendor,  except  what  is  dis- 
coverable in  the  extent  and  solidity  of  the  broken 
and  straggling  walls.  These  stand  in  heavy 
groups,  or  isolated  and  towering  fragments,  while 
about  them  the  gay  forms  of  vegetable  life  flour- 


ROME.  41 

ish,  with  a  fertility  that  seems  to  mock  the  bar- 
renness of  the  ruins  which  their  green  and  clus- 
tering beauty  but  imperfectly  conceals.  As  I 
wandered  there,  the  mildness  of  the  air  was 
wonderful  for  the  season,  and  the  bright  sun- 
light, verdant  earth,  and  beautiful  surrounding 
prospect,  took  from  the  view  the  sadness  usually 
observable,  in  scenes  the  prominent  features  of 
which  are  antiquated.  Yet,  though  the  sterner 
shades  of  the  picture  were  thus  mellowed,  its 
solemn  lesson  was  as  forcibly  imparted. 

"  Tully  was  not  so  eloquent  as  thou, 
Thou  nameless  column  with  the  buried  base  ! 
What  are  the  laurels  of  the  Cresar's  brow  ! 
Crown  me  with  ivy  from  his  dwelling  place." 

In  the  statue  gallery  of  the  Museum  of  the 
Capitol,  comparatively  little  is  found  to  excite 
admiration  in  the  mind  of  one  familiar  with  the 
treasures  of  the  Vatican.  The  Dying  Gladiator 
differed  essentially  from  the  notion  I  had  pre- 
viously entertained  respecting  it.  The  chief,  the 
particular  merit  of  this  celebrated  statue  seems  to 
consist  in  its  admirable  expression  of  physical 
suffering.  The  position,  in  view  of  the  wound, 
is  so  perfectly  true  to  nature,  (as  described  and 
illustrated  by  Dr.  Bell,*)  that  one  cannot  but 
study  it  with  growing  satisfaction.  But  he  must, 

*  Vide  Bell's  Philosophy  of  Expression, 
4* 


42  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

I  think,  be  very  imaginatively  disposed,  to  dis- 
cover that  look  of  mental  anguish,  and  dying 
sentiment,  which  might  he  naturally  anticipated. 
In  the  Borgehese  Palace  I  paid  frequent,  and 
admiring  attention  to  the  most  interesting  work 
it  contains — Raphael's  Deposition  from  the  Cross. 
The  picture  hall  of  the  Palazzo  Colonna  must, 
when  illuminated,  present  one  of  the  finest  scenes 
of  the  kind  in  Rome.  After  inspecting  the  views 
by  Claude,  and  several  works  by  the  old  masters, 
I  became  much  interested  in  examining  a  beauti- 
ful cabinet,  the  frontal  exterior  of  which  is  very 
ingeniously  carved  in  ivory.  The  middle  panel 
represents,  in  exquisite  basso  relievo,  the  master- 
piece painting  of  M.  Angelo,  and  affords  a  much 
better  idea  of  the  design  of  that  work  than  a 
distant  view  of  the  defaced  original  can  give. 
At  the  old  dreary  palace  of  the  Barbarini,  I 
paused  long  before  two  famous  original  paint- 
ings— Raphael's  Fornarina,  and  Guide's  Portrait 
of  Beatrice  Cenci.  The  one  from  the  perfection 
displayed  jn  its  execution,  the  other  from  the 
melancholy  history  of  its  subject,*  are  highly 
attractive. 


'  I  am  cut  off  from  the  only  world  I  know, 
From  life,  and  light,  and  love,  in  youth's  sweet  prime. 
You  do  well  telling  me  to  trust  in  God. 
I  hope  I  do  trust  in  him.     In  whom  else 
Can  any  trust  ?    And  yet  my  heart  is  cold." 

Beatrice  in  Prison — Shelley's  Tragedy  of  the  Cenci. 


ROME.  43 

The  churches  of  St.  John  Lateran*  and  St. 
Maria  Maggiore  are  next  to  St.  Peter's  in  extent 
and  richness.  Among  the  numerous  temples  of 
worship  delightful  to  frequent,  is  the  Chiesa  St. 
Maria  degli  Angeli,  a  noble  building  in  the  form 
of  the  Greek  Cross,  and  rendered  imposing  by  a 
grand  dome  and  extensive  pavement.  It  contains 
a  famous  meridian,  and  two  fine  frescos — St.  Pe- 
ter performing  a  cure,  and  the  Baptism  of  our 
Saviour.  The  celebrated  Sybils  of  Raphael  are 
in  the  Church  of  St.  Maria  della  Pace,  and  the 
Christ  of  M.  Angelo  in  that  of  St.  Maria  sopra 
Minerva.  There  is,  too,  a  small  church  near  the 
Forum,  said  to  be  the  identical  prison  where  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul  were  confined.  When  visit- 
ing this  building,  we  descended  a  considerable 
flight  of  steps,  and  came  to  a  gloomy  dungeon, 
the  traditionary  cell  of  the  great  apostles.  The 
very  stone,  fenced  strongly  with  iron,  to  which 
they  were  chained,  is  designated.  While  endeav- 
oring to  feel  that  this  very  vault  had  indeed  been 
the  scene  of  suffering  and  prayer  to  the  revered 
martyrs,  a  severe  task  was  imposed  upon  our 
credulity.  A  small  excavation  in  the  wall  above 
the  stair-case,  guarded  like  the  relic  below,  we 
were  informed  was  occasioned  by  a  blow  which 
the  guard  gave  St.  Peter  as  he  descended,  caus- 


*  In  the  vicinity  are  the  Scala  Sacra,  or  Holy  Stairs,  said  to  be  the 
stairs  of  Pilate's  Judgment  Seat,  which  our  Saviour  ascended.  They 
are  continually  mounted  by  innumerable  devotees  upon  their  knees. 


44  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

ing  his  head  to  strike  and  miraculously  shatter 
the  stone.  In  a  neighboring  church,  called  Ara 
Coeli,  we  admired  an  exquisite  marble  altar,  said 
to  have  been  erected  by  Augustus. 

A  bright  Sabbath  morning  found  me  seated  in 
the  little  chapel  of  a  monastery,  the  dark  and 
riveted  walls  of  which  denoted  its  antiquity.  A 
few  individuals  were  seated  upon  the  wicker 
chairs  around ;  and  between  the  lattice  work  of 
the  partition,  several  nuns  might  be  seen,  quietly 
engaged  in  their  devotions.  I  had  come  thither 
to  witness  the  ceremony  by  which  two  females 
entered  upon  their  noviciate.  When  the  chapels 
on  either  side  of  the  lattice  were  well  nigh  rilled, 
and  a  priest,  robed  for  the  occasion,  had  placed 
himself  near  the  grate,  an  elderly  preacher  ap- 
proached, and  seating  himself,  addressed  impas- 
sionately  the  kneeling  females.  His  discourse, 
couched  in  the  symphonic  accents  of  the  Italian, 
and  delivered  with  singular  energy,  was  not 
without  impressiveness.  He  painted  in  glowing 
colors  the  temptations  to  which  humanity  is  ex- 
posed upon  the  arena  of  the  world,  the  moral 
safety  and  satisfaction  of  religious  seclusion,  the 
beauty  and  acceptableness  in  the  sight  of  Heaven 
of  the  consecration  of  the  young  and  the  warm- 
hearted— even  such  as  they  who  knelt  silently 
by — to  the  cause  of  Christ  and  the  Church.  The 
priest  and  his  assistants  then  chanted  from  the 
ritual  for  some  time,  the  silvery  voices  of  the 
nuns  blending  melodiously  with  the  choruses. 


ROME.  45 

At  length  the  clear  yet  hesitating  voices  of  the 
noviciates  might  be  heard  as  they  read  their 
vows.  Their  interesting  appearance,  and  the 
associations  of  the  moment,  were  not  inoperative 
upon  those  of  us  to  whom  the  scene  was  new; 
there  was  a  kind  of  sad  and  thrilling  poetry  in 
their  very  tones. 

The  first  Sunday  in  Advent  is  one  of  those 
days  when  services  are  attended  by  the  Pope  in 
the  Sistine  Chapel.  I  willingly  embraced  the 
opportunity  to  obtain  a  view  of  his  Holiness. 
The  comparatively  small  room,  one  of  the  halls 
of  the  Vatican,  was  surrounded  at  an  early  hour 
by  a  large  concourse  of  strangers.  We  passed 
through  the  whole  band  of  Swiss  guards,  drawn 
up  in  the  colonnade.  These,  although  somewhat 
picturesque  in  their  appearance,  always  reminded 
me  of  the  soldiers  of  the  opera  house  or  the  stage, 
as  the  ruff  they  wear,  and  something  in  their 
tout  ensemble,  seems  more  scenic  than  actual — 
more  designed  for  effect  than  action.  Upon  en- 
tering, I  looked  intently  upon  a  work  of  art  of 
which  I  had  heard  much — said  to  be,  in  fact,  the 
most  meritorious  and  wonderful  of  paintings — the 
Last  Judgment,  by  Michael  Angelo,  covering  the 
entire  back  wall  of  the  chapel.  With  all  my 
gazing,  however,  I  could  but  descry  numerous 
and  apparently  most  muscular  figures,  in  various 
positions,  the  centre  one  in  the  attitude  of  com- 
mand. Subsequent  inquiry  and  reading,  in  some 
degree,  explain  the  disappointment  caused  by  a 


46  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

first  view  of  this  renowned  production.  Its  chief 
merit  consists  in  the  bold  yet  natural  development 
of  the  forms,  and  the  mathematical  precision  of 
the  execution.  It  is,  in  a  word,  a  grand  study 
for  the  artist,  and  would  more  immediately  affect 
the  merely  curious,  had  not  time  defaced,  and 
did  not  a  bad  position  obscure  its  merits.  The 
living  pageant,  however,  soon  attracted  attention. 
Many  cardinals,  bishops  and  other  dignitaries, 
with  their  purple  robes  and  ermine  decorations, 
occupied  the  innermost  division.  But  the  Pope 
entering,  riveted  the  attention  of  most  of  the  au- 
dience. Nothing  remarkable  in  his  physiognomy 
strikes  the  beholder,  except  an  unusually  promi- 
nent nose.  There  was  much  apparent  serious- 
ness and  devotion  evinced  by  this  personage,  and 
indeed  by  the  whole  assembly.  The  chanting 
was  solemn,  though  not  remarkable;  and  to  one 
devotionally  disposed,  the  whole  service  was  by 
no  means  void  of  grateful  influence. 

At  the  studio  of  Thorwaldsen,  there  is  much 
to  interest  and  gratify  the  visitor,  whether  the  in- 
trinsic and  individual  merit,  or  the  remarkable 
number  of  his  works  be  considered.  The  sunny 
face  of  the  shepherd  boy,  as  he  sits  contempla- 
tively with  his  dog  beside  him,  is  truly  inimita- 
ble; as  are  the  Three  Graces,  and  Mercury  in 
the  act  of  taking  advantage  of  the  sleep  into 
which  his  music  has  lulled  Argus.  Of  all  im- 
classical  specimens  of  sculpture,  the  figure  of 
Lord  Byron  in  a  surtout  and  heavy  shoes,  with 


ROME.  47 

a  pencil  in  hand,  with  which  he  presses  his  lip 
meditatively,  here  seen,  is  the  most  singular. 
The  birth-place  of  this  distinguished  artist  is  not 
certainly  known.  His  earliest  recollection  of  him- 
self is  that  of  being  on  board  a  ship,  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  cabin-boy.  His  origin  is,  however,  un- 
doubtedly northern,  and  most  probably  Icelandic. 
After  surmounting  many  difficulties,  and  attain- 
ing some  rank  in  his  art,  he  visited  Iceland.  To 
this  island,  it  is  said,  he  purposes  bequeathing 
the  greater  part  of  his  collections  and  property. 
Some  of  his  greatest  works  have  been  executed 
for  the  northern  nations ;  and  colossal  statues  of 
our  Saviour  and  the  twelve  apostles  are  now  in 
progress  for  a  church  in  Russia. 

There  is  a  work  at  present,  only  dead-colored, 
upon  the  easel  of  Overbeck,  which,  if  completed 
in  the  same  noble  manner  that  marks  its  concep- 
tion, will  indeed  prove  glorious.  It  is  called  the 
Christian  Parnassus,  representing  the  fine  arts  in 
the  poisons  of  the  great  artists;  and  the  groups 
ascending,  at  length  terminate  in  the  figures  of 
the  Saviour  and  Madonna.  The  likenesses,  even 
in  this  early  sketch,  are  beautiful,  and  easily 
recognized ;  and  the  gracefulness  and  vigor  of 
delineation  with  which  ninety-two  forms  are  pic- 
tured on  a  comparatively  small  canvass,  indicates 
the  genius  of  the  artist.  I  also  remarked  a  very 
expressive  and  almost  finished  painting  by  the 
same  hand — our  Saviour  at  prayer  in  the  Garden. 


48  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

The  impassioned,  yet  calm  spirit  of  earnest  devo- 
tion, radiated  from  the  wrapt  countenance  of  the 
kneeling  form,  is  finely  contrasted  with  the  angry 
and  expectant  glances  of  the  distant  crowd,  press- 
ing on  through  the  still  obscurity,  to  seize  upon 
their  victim. 

When  the  literary  pilgrim  or  susceptible  obser- 
ver has  become  familiar  with  the  aspect  and 
suggestion  of  Rome's  antiquities  and  treasures  of 
art,  he  has  yet  another  spot  of  hallowed  earth  to 
tread,  another  locality  to  visit,  as  a  shrine  whose 
associations  will  wreathe  his  spirit  as  with  in- 
cense, till  it  is  penetrated  with  sentiments  of 
sympathy,  sadness  and  love.  There  may  be  here 
excited  less  of  the  sublime  in  association,  induced 
by  the  distance  of  the  retrospect  with  which  the 
stricken  and  lone  memorials  of  extinct  national 
greatness  are  pondered ;  but  there  is  room  for 
more  home-felt  emotion,  and  occasion  for  less 
grand  and  critical,  but  more  touching  comment, 
than  the  antiquity  of  art  and  the  ruins  of  gran- 
deur can  present.  This  spot  is  indeed  neglected 
by  the  antiquarian,  and  has  been  often  passed 
by,  with  the  greatest  indifference,  by  the  merely 
fashionable  visitor;  but  who  of  us  that  loves  the 
poetry  of  his  native  tongue,  and  rare  specimens 
of  human  character,  will  not  fondly  and  feelingly 
linger  in  the  sequestered  English  burying-ground, 
at  the  graves  of  Shelley  and  Keats?  He  will 
there  read  the  same  lesson  which  more  imposing 


ROME. 


49 


monuments  had  imparted,  with  deeper  emphasis 
perhaps,  but  not  in  tones  of  more  melting  pene- 
tration. The  romantic  imagination,  remarkable 
mental  independence,  and  extreme  sensitiveness 
of  the  former  of  these  poets,  combined,  as  they 
were,  with  high  native  and  acquired  powers,  and 
associated  with  a  fate  so  deeply  melancholy,  give 
a  truly  poetical  coloring  to  our  recollections  of 
him.  Short  and  unappreciated  was  the  life  of 
poor  Keats,  and  his  death  a  martyrdom.  The 
little  left  for  friendship  to  record  of  him  was  the 
beautiful  brilliancy  of  young  genius,  its  primitive 
hopefulness,  the  susceptibility  which  gave  effect 
to  hireling  opposition,  and  the  gloomy  flickering 
and  extinction  of  that  vitality  which  alone  con- 
nected an  unsophisticated  genius  to  an  unsympa- 
thizing  and  uncongenial  world.  Arid  what  is 
this  but  a  common  story  in  the  chronicles  of  hu- 
manity I  Through  the  perspective  and  magnify- 
ing light  of  time,  it  may  possess  more  prominently 
mournful  features,  but,  wherever  contemplated, 
it  is  essentially  the  same — the  conquest  of  gross 
power,  grosser  taste,  and  indiscriminate  will,  over 
the  casket  of  a  gem,  the  conventional  form  of  an 
existence,  the  temporary  habitation  of  a  soul. 
Thus  has  it  been  of  old,  and  this  is  alike  the 
history  of  an  ancient  martyr  and  the  victim  of 
a  modern  sacrifice.  The  intelligent  sentiment 
which  impelled  and  sustained,  may  essentially 
differ,  but  the  course — the  consummation — is  the 
5 


50  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

same.  The  chief  distinction  between  the  suffer- 
ing and  final  self-devotion  of  the  unyielding  in 
faith,  whose  life  was  laid  down  in  an  ancient 
amphitheatre,  and  that  of  Keats,  is  that  the  one 
perished,  according  to  the  customs  of  the  age,  by 
the  hand  of  violence,  and  in  the  other,  the  dor- 
mant fires  of  disease  were  renewed,  and  the  lin- 
gering progress  of  decay  speeded  fatally  onward. 
"  Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water:  " 
— an  epitaph  dictated,  like  this,  at  the  very  gates 
of  death,  yet  bespeaks  the  poet ;  and,  like  every 
poetical  sentiment,  is  replete  with  latent  truth. 
That  name  was  indeed  written  in  water,  but  the 
pencillings  of  a  progressive  and  discerning  spirit 
could  have  deepened  the  inscription  upon  an 
adamantine  surface  of  crystal.  But  what  these 
have  failed  to  do,  pity  and  congeniality  are  ever 
doing;  and  in  innumerable  hearts,  the  memory 
of  Keats  is  cherished  with  a  love  surpassing  even 
what  the  efforts  of  his  maturer  genius  could  have 
inspired.* 

Among  the  odd  traits  observable  in  the  Roman 
population,  is  their  aversion  to  two  luxuries  es- 
pecially esteemed  in  more  northern  countries,  and 
though  somewhat  matters  of  taste,  yet  not  alto- 


*  Hazlitt  has  justly  observed  that  Keats's  "  ostensible  crime  was, 
that  he  had  been  praised  in  the  Examiner  newspaper :  a  greater  and 
more  unpardonable  offence  probably  was,  that  he  was  a  true  poet,  and 
bad  all  the  errors  and  beauties  of  a  youthful  genius  to  answer  for.  Mr. 
Gilford  was  as  insensible  to  the  one  as  he  was  inexorable  to  the  other." 


ROME.  5] 

gcther  nnallied  to  a  higher  sentiment ;  these  are 
flowers  and  fire.  The  latter,  during  winter,  is 
as  truly  physically  requisite  as  in  colder  climates ; 
hut  less  surprise  should  be  excited  by  this  antipa- 
thy, among  a  people  whose  idea  of  comfort  is  so 
widely  different  from  our  own,  and  to  whom  this 
cheerful  influence  brings  with  it  none  of  the  do- 
mestic associations  which  endear  it  to  the  deni- 
zens of  bleaker  localities,  and  the  possessors  of  a 
better  founded  enthusiasm.  The  former  distaste 
is  more  remarkable,  when  we  consider  the  pro- 
verbial predilections  of  the  Italians  for  the  beau- 
tiful ;  and  yet  it  is  to  a  surprising  extent  true, 
that  most  are  indifferent,  and  many  decidedly 
averse  to  flowers ;  whereas,  in  Florence,  we  were 
ever  beset  with  flower-girls;  and  the  Neapolitan 
peasants  are  seldom  seen  without  a  nosegay.  I 
have  heard  this  peculiarity  of  the  Romans  as- 
cribed to  their  very  delicate  sense  of  smell,  which 
renders  even  a  mild  perfume  quite  overpowering; 
but  it  is  difficult  to  admit  a  reason  which  is  so 
inconsistent  with  their  habitual  toleration  of  far 
less  genial  odors,  particularly  the  unwholesome 
exhalations  from  the  buried  aqueducts  and  in- 
fected campagna. 

Although  the  period  of  my  sojourn  was  con- 
sidered, in  some  respects,  an  uncommon  season, 
yet  the  excellence  of  the  climate  of  Rome,  accord- 
ing to  my  best  information  and  experience,  has 
been  sadly  exaggerated.  During  winter,  a  south- 


52  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

erly  wind,  with  the  usual  accompaniment  of 
rain  or  humidity,  or  a  dry  piercing  northerly 
blast,  generally  prevails.  The  bright  summer- 
like  days,  when  the  deep  azure  of  the  sky,  and 
the  balmy  softness  of  the  breezes,  recall  our  cher- 
ished imaginings  of  Rome,  are  too  unfrequent,  at 
least  to  please  the  invalid.  Yet  one  of  these  beau- 
tiful interludes  in  the  capricious  shiftings  of  the 
weather  is,  if  freely  enjoyed,  unspeakably  reno- 
vating. A  promenade  upon  the  Pincian  Hill  or 
in  the  Villa  Borgehese,  or  an  excursion  to  Tivoli, 
at  such  a  time,  inclines  one  to  forgive  and  forget 
all  the  past  waywardness  of  the  elements.  In 
summer,  that  awful  vapory  infection — the  mala- 
ria, and  the  extreme  heat,  are  alike  deleterious. 
It  is  very  confidently  asserted,  by  individuals 
who  judge  from  experience,  that  a  vast  change 
hat;  occurred  in  the  climate  of  Rome  within  the 
last  thirty  years;  and  that  even  within  a  less 
period,  a  marked  difference,  as  regards  constancy 
and  mildness,  is  observable. 

The  supremacy  of  the  pope  and  his  cardinals, 
denominated  the  sacred  college,  being  all  but  ab- 
solute, the  risk  incurred  by  such  a  sway  renders 
the  government  extremely  tenacious  and  jealous, 
so  that  of  all  culprits  of  whom  the  law  takes  cog- 
nizance, none  are  at  once  more  frequently  or  less 
deservedly  its  victims  than  political  offenders. 
But  the  chief  evil  immediately  resulting  from  this 
condition  of  things,  consists  in  the  concessions 


ROME.  53 

which  the  rulers  make  to  the  ruled,  in  order  to 
maintain  their  authority.  Many  of  these  involve 
the  total  subversion  of  the  very  principles  which 
government  is  mainly  instituted  to  uphold.  Capi- 
tal crime,  for  example,  is  of  all  offences  the  least 
liable  to  retribution  by  the  operation  of  law,  in 
the  Roman  states.  And  such  is  the  sanguinary 
temperament  of  most  of  the  people,  that  any  se- 
vere civil  check  upon  it  would  inflame  opposition, 
and  hence  render  their  political  yoke  more  gall- 
ing. Of  the  two  evils,  therefore,  as  might  be 
anticipated,  government  choose  that  which  is 
morally  greatest,  and  politically  least.  Conse- 
quently, the  number  of  personal  violences  and 
murders  is  almost  incredible.  An  incarceration 
of  a  few  months,  for  this  highest  of  crimes,  is 
often  the  sole  punishment ;  and  even  this  is  dis- 
pensed with,  if  the  offender  can  effect  a  pecuniary 
compromise  with  the  relations  of  the  deceased. 
Within  a  sh6rt  period,  the  fourth  murder,  under 
the  most  atrocious  circumstances,  alone  sufficed 
to  bring  a  noted  culprit  to  the  gallows. 

The  present  pope,  it  is  believed,  in  executing 
plans  for  the  advancement  of  his  own  views,  is 
gradually  undermining  one  of  the  strong  holds  of 
his  power.  The  re-erection  of  St.  Paul's  church, 
in  the  environs  of  Rome,  in  a  costly  style,  and 
the  creation  of  five  new  cardinals — both  measures 
in  every  respect  unnecessary,  are  among  the  ex- 
travagant plans  with  which  he  is  charged.  The 
5* 


54          ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

means  of  carrying  on  these  is  obtained  from  ex- 
tensive loans,  for  the  payment  of  which  his  most 
valuable  revenues  are  pledged,  and  year  after 
year,  these  are  sacrificed  to  his  inability  to  meet 
the  annual  demand.  I  have  heard  it  confidently 
estimated  that,  adopting  the  past  as  a  criterion, 
in  the  space  of  thirteen  years,  the  resources  of 
the  government  will  be  -absorbed ;  and  if  the 
ability  of  the  governed  to  support  taxation,  at 
that  juncture,  is  not  better  than  at  present,  there 
is  no  conceivable  means  of  furnishing  an  adequate 
supply  to  sustain  the  papal  credit.*  But  it  is 
highly  probable  that  another  and  more  rapid 
agency  than  the  slow  depreciation  of  the  trea- 
sury will,  ere  then,  have  permanently  altered  the 
political  condition,  not  only  of  Rome,  but  of  all 
Italy. 

The  degeneracy  of  modern  Rome  is  a  subject 
ever  forced  upon  the  thoughtful  resident,  when- 
ever his  mind  is  free  to  revert  to  the  local  and 
moral  circumstances  by  which  he  is  surrounded. 
And  to  one  who  is  in  anywise  familiar  with  her 
past  history,  or  susceptible  to  her  present  influ- 
ences, it  becomes  an  almost  absorbing  theme. 
Vainly,  at  times,  do  the  glories  of  the  Vatican 
allure  him;  their  delightful  enchantments  fade 


*  Tosti,  the  present  treasurer  general,  is  said  to  have  administered 
the  financial  department  so  successfully  as  to  have  met  the  annual  exi- 
gencies, made  up  the  deficit  of  the  past  year,  and  retained  a  surplus. 


ROME.  55 

before  a  more  impressive  reality.  He  cannot 
rejoice  unreservedly  in  the  splendors  of  human 
art,  when  humanity  is  a  wreck  around  him ;  he 
cannot  indulge  in  stirring  retrospection  over  the 
sculptured  figure  of  an  old  Roman,  while  it  serves 
but  to  render  more  prominent  the  moral  defor- 
mity of  his  descendant.  And  if  a  gleam  of  native 
enthusiasm  excite  him,  caught  from  scenes  which 
the  supremacy  of  character  has  hallowed,  or  a 
sentiment  of  rich  gratification  steals  over  him 
from  the  midst  of  material  beauty,  the  idea  which 
he  most  loves  to  connect  with  these — the  idea  of 
his  race — brings  with  it  an  overpowering  sadness. 
Throughout  all  that  art  or  antiquity  here  unfolds, 
he  feels  as  if  wandering  in  a  beautiful  garden, 
once  blest  with  a  presence  which  shall  know  it 
no  more.  He  feels,  in  his  inmost  soul,  that  it 
was  this  non-existent  object  of  his  love,  which 
lent  a  hitherto  unknown  interest  to  the  marble 
and  canvass,  to  mount  and  river ;  and  while  ever 
and  anon  their  silent  beauty  affords  a  sad  plea- 
sure, they  oftener  serve  but  to  remind  him  of  the 
grave  which  has  closed  over  the  beloved  of  his 
memory. 

Yet  he  gradually  derives  consolation,  which 
sometimes  brightens  into  happiness,  in  attaching 
himself  to  such  mementos  ;  and  when  they  recall 
most  strongly  what  has  been,  the  thought  of 
what  yet  may  be  brings  home  an  exquisite  and 
almost  forgotten  delight.  While  melancholy  even 


56  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

imparts  its  sad  hue  to  the  moral  observer  of 
Rome's  relics  and  ruins,  something  of  hope,  of 
instinctive  anticipation,  bears  out  the  mental 
gratification  which  ever  flows  from  them. 


FLORENCE. 


'•  Girt  by  her  theatre  of  hills,  she  reaps 
Her  corn  and  wine  and  oil,  and  Plenty  leaps 
To  laughing  life  with  her  redundant  horn  ; 
Along  the  banks,  where  smiling  Arno  sweeps, 
Was  modern  Luxury  of  Commerce  born, 
And  buried  Learning  rose,  redeemed  to  a  new  morn." 


THE  prevalence  of  broad  sweeping  vales,  thickly 
studded  with  olive  trees,  and  relieved  by  a  back- 
ground of  snow-covered  mountains,  uniquely  em- 
bosoming a  picturesque  city,  through  the  midst 
of  which  a  river  courses,  spanned  by  several 
finely  arched  bridges,  clearly  assures  us  that  we 
are  in  the  delightful  capital  of  the  garden  of 
Italy,  as  Tuscany  is  appropriately  called.  A 
merely  conventional  view  of  Florence  inspired 
me  with  a  strong  predilection  for  it  as  a  residence. 
It  possesses  that  medium  character  as  regards 
extent,  population  and  activity,  which  is  essen- 
tial to  the  comfort  of  those  who  would  find  in 
their  place  of  abode  a  moderate  degree  of  live- 
liness, combined  with  something  of  quietude  and 
beauty.  Its  compactness,  and  its  broadly  paved 


58  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

streets,  and  the  general  magnitude  and  antique 
cast  of  its  buildings,  are  features  which  almost 
immediately  prepossess  the  visitor. 

One  cannot  wander  long  in  Florence,  without 
coming  out  upon  the  Piazza  Grand  Duca.  This 
square  seems  to  possess  something  of  the  local 
interest  of  the  Edinburgh  grass-market,  as  de- 
scribed by  Sir  Walter  Scott — not  that  peculiar 
events  transpire  there,  but  the  place  is  a  kind  of 
centra]  resort,  the  post  office  and  custom  house 
being  there  situated,  and  that  curious  specimen 
of  Tuscan  architecture  called  the  Palazzo  Yec- 
chio.  There,  too,  stand  the  colossal  and  time- 
hallowed  figures  sculptured  by  Buonarotti :  seen 
at  night,  how  mystic  their  snowy  distinctness ! 
The  illuminated  figures  upon  the  old  tower  desig- 
nate, at  that  season,  the  hour,  and  a  solitary  sen- 
tinel standing  in  the  shade  of  the  buildings,  with 
the -equestrian  statue  of  Cosmo  in  the  centre, 
completes  the  romanticity  of  the  scene.  In  the 
daytime,  a  far  more  bustling  appearance  is  pre- 
sented— groups  awaiting  the  sorting  of  the  mails, 
venders  crying  at  their  scattered  booths,  and, 
most  unique  of  all,  a  quack  mounted  upon  his 
caleche,  eulogizing  his  nostrums  most  eloquently. 

The  view  from  the  Boboli  gardens  attached  to 
the  ducal  palace,  is  thus  graphically  described  by 
a  celebrated  English  poet : 

"You  see  below  Florence,  a  smokeless  city, 
with  its  domes  and  spires  occupying  the  vale, 
and  beyond,  to  the  right,  the  Apennines,  whose 


FLORENCE.  59 

base  extends  even  to«lhe  walls,  and  whose  sum- 
mits are  intersected  by  ashen-colored  clouds. 
The  green  valleys  of  these  mountains,  which 
gently  unfold  themselves  upon  the  plain,  and  the 
intervening  hills,  covered  with  vineyards  and 
olive  plantations,  are  occupied  by  the  villas,  which 
are,  as  it  were,  another  city — a  Babylon  of  pal- 
aces and  gardens.  In  the  midst  of  the  picture 
rolls  the  Arno,  through  woods  bounded  by  the 
aerial  snowy  summits  of  the  Apennines.  On  the 
right,  a  magnificent  buttress  of  lofty  craggy  hills, 
overgrown  with  wilderness,  juts  out  into  many 
shapes  over  a  lonely  valley,  and  approaches  the 
walls  of  the  city. 

"  Cascini  and  other  villages  occupy  the  pinna- 
cles and  abutments  of  these  hills,  over  which  is 
seen,  at  intervals,  the  ethereal  mountain  line, 
hoary  with  snow  and  intersected  by  clouds.  The 
valley  below  is  covered  with  cypress  groves, 
whose  obeliskine  forms  of  intense  green  pierce 
the  gray  shadow  of  the  wintry  hills  that  over- 
hang them.  The  cypresses,  too,  of  the  garden, 
form  a  magnificent  fore-ground  of  accumulated 
verdure  :  pyramids  of  dark  green  sinning  cones, 
rising  out  of  a  mass,  between  which  are  cut,  like 
caverns,  recesses  conducting  into  walks." 

At  no  great  distance  we  find  the  Museum  of 
Natural  History,  the  anatomical  preparations  of 
which  are  probably  unsurpassed  for  their  com- 
plete and  scientific  exhibition  of  the  several  parts 
and  processes  of  the  human  system.  Here  the 


60  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

body  seems  literally  laid  open,  its  nerves,  glands 
and  muscles  represented  in  their  natural  posi- 
tions, relatiorfs,  hues  and  functions;  and  all  with 
a  regularity  of  arrangement,  and  displaying  a  per- 
fection in  the  execution  truly  admirable.  Means 
of  studying  nature,  in  so  important  a  department, 
more  comprehensive  and  withal  commodious,  can 
scarcely  be  imagined.  Admiration  of  the  skill  of 
the  artist,  and  an  agitating  sense  of  the  won- 
derful delicacy  and  mysterious  science  involved 
in  our  physical  being  alternately  occupy  the  be- 
holder. 

The  Mausoleum  and  Chapel  Tomb  of  the  Me- 
dici are  remarkable  objects  of  attention.  The 
latter  is  hallowed  by  the  immortal  work  of  M. 
Angelo  which  it  contains,  and  the  former  is  yet 
in  the  progress  of  construction,  and  although  very 
rich  in  marbles  and  precious  stones,  possesses  too 
sombre  a  hue,  with  its  present  incumbrances,  to 
show  these  to  much  advantage. 

Within  the  palace  is  a  magnificent  range  of 
apartments  appropriated  to  the  fine  arts,  through 
which  we  are  privileged,  by  the  liberal  cour- 
tesy so  striking  to  the  stranger  in  Tuscany,  un- 
reservedly to  wander.  They  are  adorned  above 
with  the  most  splendid  frescos  illustrative  of  the 
Iliad,  beneath  by  brilliantly  polished  floors,  while 
around,  in  gorgeous  profusion,  aje  various  and 
admired  paintings.  The  chief  distinction  of  this 
collection  seems  to  consist  in  the  remarkable  pau- 
city of  ordinary  works  amid  such  a  multitude. 


FLORENCE.  gj 

There  are  few  which  indicate  vast  genius,  or  in- 
spire overpowering  sentiments,  but  many  which, 
from  their  intrinsic  beauty  or  excellence  of  exe- 
cution, form  delightful  sources  of  contemplative 
pleasure. 

But  the  grand  object  which  lends  a  most  at- 
tractive charm  to  the  city,  is  its  far-famed  gallery 
of  art,  containing,  besides  innumerable  paintings, 
many  original  works  of  ancient  sculpture.  Day 
after  day  may  the  resident  here  frequent  this  ele- 
gant and  instructive  resort,  until  it  becomes  to 
him  a  familiar  retreat,  where  much  of  his  daily 
happiness  is  experienced,  and  many  of  his  best 
thoughts  suggested.  Here,  were  this  my  home, 
would  many  of  my  best  friends  be  ;  for  who  can 
fail  to  have  his  favorite  paintings,  as  well  as  his 
much  loved  walks,  or  most  admired  authors  ] 
And  who  that  values  the  objects  and  agencies 
around  him  in  proportion  to  their  improving  in- 
fluences, can  withstand  the  sentiment  of  sympa- 
thy inspired  by  the  long  study  and  nurtured  love 
of  art's  happiest  products.  How  many  delight- 
ful hours  may  one  pass  in  that  little  sanctum  of 
art — the  Tribune,  gazing  upon  its  presiding  god- 
dess, and  basking  in  the  radiated  expression  of 
its  pictured  glories !  Often,  while  seated  in  the 
circular  chair  opposite  the  celebrated  statue  of 
the  Knife-grinder,  I  could  not  but  reflect  upon 
the  position  as  superior  to  any  which  mere  wealth 
or  station  could  boast.  For  if  the  end  chiefly 
attainable  from  both  these  is  enjoyment,  assur- 
G 


62  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 


edly  the  rich  little  apartment  I  temporarily  occu- 
pied evolves  from  its  beautiful  treasures  sufficient 
pleasurable  inspiration  to  delight  every  worthy 
capacity  of  happiness,  such  as  is  derivable  from 
outward  objects.  Specification  and  especial  com- 
ment in  regard  to  the  paintings  in  the  Gallery 
and  Palace  of  Florence  becomes  less  and  less 
practicable,  as  the  sojourner  repeats  and  length- 
ens his  visits.  The  works  of  Raphael,  Titian, 
Morillo  and  Salvator,  distinctive  as  they  are,  be- 
come to  the  studious  observer  more  and  more 
instinct  with  an  inspiration  over  which  he  loves 
to  ponder,  but  which  seldom  '•  wreaks  itself  upon 
expression." 

Standing  amid  the  renowned  sculptured  group 
of  Xiobe  and  her  children,  I  could  indeed  discover 
maternal  sadness  in  the  fixed  countenance  of  the 
former,  yet  at  the  first  view,  it  seemed  wanting 
in  that  excited,  agonized  grief  which  the  occasion 
would  naturally  induce.  Perhaps,  however,  the 
expression  more  justly  is  that  of  placid  and  ut- 
terly despairing  sorrow.  The  matronly  form,  the 
manner  in  which  the  mother's  arm  protects  her 
clinging  babe,  the  fine  natural  positions  of  the 
children — none  can  behold  without  admiration  ; 
nor,  I  think,  without  wishing  that  the  whole 
group  was  better  disposed  for  exhibiting  the  scene 
so  vaguely  indicated  by  the  severed  and  regu- 
larly placed  figures. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  gallery  are  two  statues 
by  Donatello — John  the  Baptist  in  the  Wilder- 


FLORENCE.  53 

ness,  and  David.  In  viewing  the  former,  one 
must  admit  its  excellence  as  an  artificial  repre- 
sentation of  an  attenuated  human  form;  but  few 
can  restrain  a  feeling  of  impatience  in  viewing  it 
as  the  image  it  is  designed  to  exhibit.  In  the 
successful  attempt  to  delineate  a  victim  of  famine, 
all  trace  of  devotion  and  benignity  is  lost.  In 
this,  as  in  other  instances,  the  subject  of  regret 
is,  that  the  artist  had  not  been  satisfied  with  exe- 
cuting a  fine  imitation  of  nature,  instead  of  aim- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  at  representing  a  great 
character.  Michael  Angelo's  Christ  would  not 
so  often  disappoint,  were  it  known  by  another 
name.  It  is  the  nature  of  man  to  associate  with 
names  corresponding  ideas ;  and  he  mars  not  a 
little  the  completeness  of  his  fame,  who  is  prone 
to  connect  with  the  emanations  of  his  genius  or 
industry,  the  added  attraction  of  a  title  which  is, 
in  itself,  calculated  to  excite  great  expectations. 
That  title  will  anticipate  the  work  itself  in  repu- 
tation ;  and  hence  the  notions  of  the  multitude 
will  be  proportionably  raised.  It  is  highly  inter- 
esting to  peruse  the  various,  and,  for  the  most 
part,  strongly  marked  countenances  in  the  Por- 
trait Gallery.  These  likenesses  comprise  authen- 
tic delineations  of  the  master  painters.  Those  of 
Titian,  Vandyke  and  Perugini  particularly  ar- 
rested my  attention. 

In  the  Corsini  Palace,  several  sketches  by  Sal- 
vator ;  a  powerful  modern  work — the  Death  of 
Priam ;  a  very  pretty  one — the  Corsini  Children  ; 


64  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

two  Dutch  portraits,  finished  up  with  a  dreadful 
fidelity  to  nature ;  Carlo  Dolci's  Poesia,  and  a 
drawing  by  Raphael,  are  the  most  interesting 
works  in  the  extensive  collection.  Of  late  pro- 
ductions of  art  at  present  to  be  seen  in  this  city, 
few  interested  me  more  than  those  of  Bartolini, 
the  most  celebrated,  and  in  some  respects  the  best 
of  modern  sculptors.  The  statue  of  Charity, 
with  an  infant  asleep  in  her  arms,  and  a  boy 
receiving  instruction  at  her  feet,  and  a  beautiful 
Priestess  of  Bacchus,  still  in  the  hands  of  the 
artist,  most  delighted  me.  I  viewed  also,  with 
lively  pleasure,  a  picture  just  completed  by  a 
young  Florentine — the  miracle  of  a  mule  refusing 
her  proffered  food,  and  falling  upon  her  knees  at 
the  sight  of  St.  Anthony  bearing  the  host.  What- 
ever may  be  thought  of  the  subject,  the  execution 
is  wonderful.  The  countenance  of  the  covered 
heretic,  for  whose  good  the  miracle  is  supposed 
to  have  been  performed,  expressing  astonishment 
and  conviction,  the  calm,  self-possessed  air  of 
the  saint,  with  the  reverence  and  still  devotion 
beaming  from  the  attentive  features  of  the  sur- 
rounding crowd — all  this  is  most  feelingly  con- 
ceived and  depicted.  The  artist  is  but  twenty 
years  of  age — one  of  a  gifted  family. 

As  the  season  of  mildness  and  salubrity  un- 
folds with  the  rapidity  and  luxuriance  peculiar  to 
southern  Europe,  the  pleasures  of  pedestrianism 
and  excursions  into  the  vicinity  are  augmented. 
To  gain  the  summit  of  Fiesole,  the  place  of  Cata- 


FLORENCE.  65 

line's  encampment,  and  gaze  from  off  the  beauti- 
ful and  cypress-decked  esplanade  in  front  of  the 
old  monastery  there  situated,  upon  the  city  be- 
neath, and  the  snowy  heights  in  the  distance,  or 
to  thread  the  sunny  path  that  skirts  the  river, 
becomes  daily  more  delightful.  The  song  of  birds 
in  the  groves,  the  rustling  of  the  bright  lizards 
among  the  dead  leaves,  and  the  hum  of  insects 
in  the  warm  air,  are  too  spring-like  not  to  excite, 
with  their  genial  vivacity,  the  contemplative  spirit. 
On  these  occasions,  the  converse  of  friendship 
would  frequently  and  almost  spontaneously  die 
away  before  the  subtle  influence  of  awakening  and 
teeming  nature.  Ever  and  anon  we  involuntarily 
paused  to  admire  the  beauty  around.  The  river, 
presenting  an  increased  body  of  water,  rapidly 
purling  along  its  wayward  course — the  opposite 
bank  displaying  its  numerous  and  various  trees, 
now  becoming  more  deeply  umbrageous  and  ver- 
dant— while,  upon  each  hand,  was  that  glorious 
object,  the  hoary  mountain  ranges,  reflecting  the 
scattered  sun-light,  arid  contrasting  with  the  in- 
dented slopes — combined  to  form  a  landscape  of 
peculiar  cheerfulness  and  beauty. 

It  was  on  a  day  like  this  that  I  extended  my 
acquaintance  with  the  environs  of  the  city,  much 
beyond  the  limits  to  which  previous  excursions 
had  carried  me.  After  six  miles  of  riding,  we 
reached  Pratolino,  a  villa  of  the  Grand  Duke,  and 
perambulated  its  park-like  grounds,  the  wooded 
parts  of  which  forcibly  reminded  me  of  Mount 


66  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

Auburn.  Here  we  viewed  a  most  colossal  statue, 
composed  of  brick,  plaster- work  and  stone,  which, 
from  its  awful  size  and  muscular  development, 
presents  a  mammoth  rather  than  a  truly  sublime 
object.  The  fountain  designed  to  flow  over  it 
was  quite  dry.  The  figure  is  human,  and  in  a 
sitting  posture.  We  went  through  the  ceremony 
of  ascending  and  entering  the  enormous  head  of 
this  monstrous  result  of  the  labors  of  Giovanni  di 
Bologna.  The  old  lacquey  de  place  who  accom- 
panied us  promised  to  point  out  his  country  house 
on  the  road;  and  when  we  were  passing  a  broad 
plain  having  a  large  cross  in  the  centre,  declared 
that  to  be  the  "home  in  the  country"  to  which 
he  confidently  expected  to  retire.  It  was  the 
public  burying-ground.  Thus  spoke  he  of  the 
last  resting  place  of  his  body;  and  in  his  habit 
and  easy  manner  of  sustaining  the  mortal  coil,  I 
recognized  one  of  those  peculiar  philosophers  of 
whom  Goldsmith  so  often  and  so  charmingly 
speaks. 

The  last  week  of  Carnival,  although, unmarked 
by  the  extravagant  festivities  which  attract  the 
stranger  multitude  at  the  seat  of  Catholicism, 
is  yet  sufficiently  prolific  of  amusement.  The 
Lung'  Arno,  as  the  street  bordering  the  river  is 
called,  is  thronged;  and  the  occasional  appear- 
ance of  a  party  of  maskers,  and  especially  that  of 
a  gilded  and  painted  vehicle,  filled  with  a  band 
of  choristers  dressed  in  the  Chinese  fashion,  evi- 
dences a  gala  time.  The  Grand  Duke's  equi- 


FLORENCE.  57 

page,  consisting  of  several  carriages  drawn  by 
four  horses  richly  caparisoned,  with  gaudy  out- 
riders, adds  to  the  passing  show.  A  Festa  di 
Ballo  is  the  favorite  evening  diversion.  The 
extensive  floor  of  one  of  the  large  theatres  is 
covered  with  people  of  various  orders,  the  num- 
ber of  maskers  being  generally  small  in  propor- 
tion to  the  whole  assembly.  Most  of  the  females 
wear  large  black  silk  dominos  and  half  masks. 
A  few  gay  and  comical  disguises  appear  amid 
the  throng ;  and  most  of  the  time  three  or  four 
sets  of  waltzers  are  footing  it  away  in  various 
parts  of  the  building.  There  is  far  less  of  genu- 
ine humor  than  I  had  looked  for,  and  a  small 
display  of  taste  in  the  costumes.  Most  of  the 
maskers,  in  their  silent  glidings  to  and  fro,  seemed 
convened  rather  for  intrigue  than  mere  pastime. 
Indeed  the  practice,  when  not  evidently  made 
use  of  as  a  source  of  mirth,  or  successful  in  pro- 
ducing that  effect,  is  too  intrinsically  sinister  to 
please  those  unaccustomed  to  it.  I  can  readily 
imagine  a  masquerade  in  France  as  a  very  gay, 
amusing,  and  perhaps  pleasing  spectacle ;  but  if 
this  be  a  specimen  of  this  form  of  diversion  in 
Italy,  I  can  only  say  that  it  possesses,  in  my 
view,  little  comparative  attraction.  The  Chiesa 
di  St.  Giovanni  is  splendidly  arrayed  in  tapestry, 
and  brilliantly  illuminated.  The  inspiring  solos 
and  choruses,  with  the  deep  responses  of  the  as- 
sembled multitude,  and  the  grand  instrumental 
harmony,  formed  a  scene  more  impressive  and 


63  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

interesting  than  the  combined  pleasures  of  the 
Carnival. 

Among  the  by-way  mirth  observable  at  this 
mirthful  season,  one  instance  struck  me  as  quite 
unique.  A  man  wearing  a  military  chapeau  stood 
upon  an  inverted  basket,  at  a  corner,  with  an 
outstretched  arm  and  a  fixed  eye,  immovable  as 
a  statue.  The  joke  consisted  in  his  perfect  im- 
mobility, amid  the  jeers  and  questionings  of  an 
eager  group.  In  the  midst  of  a  warm  debate, 
whether  the  figure  was  artificial  or  human,  the 
support  was  removed  from  beneath  his  feet,  and 
the  hero  of  the  scene  joined  in  the  merriment,  the 
source  of  which  was  so  essentially  the  product  of 
Florentine  wit.  A  few  days  after,  I  saw  a  mul- 
titude convened  to  witness  a  sadder  but  equally 
characteristic  spectacle.  In  front  of  the  singular 
old  prison  of  Florence,  three  criminals  were  ex- 
posed, having  upon  their  breasts  large  placards 
indicating  their  names,  ages  and  crimes.  They 
had  been  condemned  to  the  galleys  for  three 
years,  and  the  bell  had  assembled  a  curious  crowd 
to  gaze  upon  their  wretchedness,  and  witness 
their  transportation. 

On  a  fine  afternoon,  we  visited  Prato,  a  manu- 
facturing town  ten  miles  distant,  for  the  purpose 
of  witnessing  a  religious  procession  which  occurs 
there  once  in  three  years,  and  is  deemed  one  of 
the  most  imposing  in  Italy.  Having  passed  two 
or  three  hours  in  roaming  about  the  streets,  amid 
the  dense  crowds  assembled  to  behold  the  cere- 


FLORENCE.  69 

monial,  about  dusk  we  took  the  station  previously 
obtained  for  us,  being  one  compartment  of  the 
rough  and  somewhat  elevated  galleries  which 
lined  the  way.  The  houses  were  illuminated, 
and  the  strong  light  falling  upon  two  tiers  of 
spectators  arranged  on  either  side,  gave  to  the 
scene  a  remarkable  effect.  First  in  the  proces- 
sion, (designed  in  observance  of  the  death  of  our 
Saviour,)  came  a  large  cavalcade,  habited  as  the 
ancient  Roman  soldiers,  the  leaders  wearing  rich 
mantles  and  dark-plumed  helmets ;  then  a  con- 
siderable body  of  infantry;  then  a  band  of  mu- 
sicians clad  in  black.  After  these  appeared  an 
immense  number  of  laymen  bearing  torches,  and 
followed  by  boys,  priests  and  marshals  ;  and 
then  were  borne  successively,  all  the  emblems  of 
our  Saviour's  sufferings,  and,  inscribed  upon  ban- 
ners, his  words  during  the  crucifixion ;  after  all, 
preceded  by  a  large  choir  of  priests,  and  sur- 
rounded by  torch-bearers,  appeared  the  image  of 
the  dead  Jesus,  over  which  was  carried  a  large 
black  canopy;  then  came  the  Madonna,  more 
music,  another  cavalcade  of  soldiery,  and  files  of 
citizens  closed  the  procession.  As  this  was  the 
first  ceremonial  of  the  kind  I  had  witnessed,  my 
interest  was  considerably  excited.  It  certainly 
was  well  calculated  to  induce  its  destined  influ- 
ence. The  combined  effect  of  such  a  solemn 
moving  pageant,  and  the  gazing  multitude,  re- 
vealed to  the  sight  by  the  flickering  glare  of  a 
hundred  torches ;  the  profound  stillness  which 


70  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

reigned,  broken  only  by  an  occasional  murmur, 
the  deep  tones  of  the  chanters,  or  the  measured 
strains  of  the  instruments  ;  the  view,  under  such 
circumstances,  of  the  symbols  of  the  sufferings 
of  Him  who,  on  that  day,  centuries  past,  was 
borne  mournfully  and  quietly  to  the  sepulchre — 
all  came  most  touchingly  and  with  an  awful  and 
solemn  distinctness  upon  the  mind. 

Among  the  curious  ceremonies  of  the  holy 
week,  observed  in  Florence,  is  that  called  the 
Colnmbina.  At  mid-day,  the  figure  of  a  small 
dove  is  made,  by  fire-works,  to  glide  rapidly 
along  a  large  wire,  from  the  main  altar  of  the 
Cathedral,  through  the  principal  entrance  to  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  where  it  comes  in  contact 
with  a  magazine  of  squibs  lodged  in  a  massive 
carved  block  or  pillar,  thence  producing  gradual 
but  continued  explosions.  This  phenomenon, 
although  its  effect  is  unaided  by  the  darkness  of 
night,  is  eagerly  viewed  by  an  immense  populace 
filling  the  large  square  and  adjacent  balconies 
and  windows.  What  its  religious  signification  is 
I  cannot  precisely  determine.  The  first  fire  is 
said  to  be  communicated  from  a  holy  flint ;  i.  e. 
a  small  fragment  of  the  tomb  of  Christ ;  and  the 
contadini  attach  great  importance  to  the  manner 
in  which  the  dove  executes  her  mission,  not  in- 
deed a  very  peaceful  one.  Should  her  passage  be 
uninterrupted,  and  the  desired  effect  be  produced, 
a  favorable  season  for  the  crops  is  inferred ;  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  mismanagement  causes  a  fail- 


FLORENCE. 


71 


lire,  the  contrary  event  is  sadly  presaged.  On 
this  occasion,  the  whole  affair  went  off  well.  It 
was  regarded  with  mnch  apparent  interest — an 
interest,  indeed,  which  nothing  but  the  character 
of  the  people  and  the  force  of  popular  supersti- 
tions can  explain. 

The  opera  of  Norm  a  is  rife  with  the  beautiful 
music  of  Bellini,  and  the  graceful  poetry  of  Fe- 
lice Romano.  The  first  representation  here  was 
attended  by  an  immense  assemblage,  arid  lis- 
tened to  with  singular  attention,  from  the  fact 
that  during  the  last  autumn  it  was  performed  on 
the  same  stage,  with  a  German  lady  as  prima 
donna,  with  what  was  believed  to  be  an  une- 
qualled degree  of  success. 

The  plot  of  this  opera  represents  the  Druids  in 
Gaul,  whose  orgies  are  urged  to  the  downfall  of 
the  Romans,  who,  tinder  a  proconsul,  are  occu- 
pying this  ancient  seat  of  their  rites ;  and  is  said 
to  have  a  hidden  meaning,  and  to  be  allcgorically 
significant  of  the  abuse  of  monastic  institutions, 
and  the  downfall  of  the  church,  for  which  reason 
it  was  prohibited  in  Rome  under  its  original 
name,  and  before  being  presented  there,  received 
essential  modifications.  Norma  is  high  priestess, 
her  father  high  priest,  and  Adalgisa  a  young 
ministra  in  the  temple.  The  young  Roman  offi- 
cer woos  and  wins  Norma,  and  afterwards  is  in 
love  with  Adalgisa.  At  length,  being  taken  in 
the  very  act  of  spying  upon  the  Druidical  rites, 
he  is  condemned  to  death,  when  Norma  declares 


72  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

her  apostacy,  and  glories  to  die  upon  the  same 
pile  with  her  faithless  but  repentant  lover.  This 
outline  is  most  boldly  sketched  and  interestingly 
filled  up  in  the  opera.  The  moving  scenes  are 
those  in  which  the  infidelity  of  the  proconsul  is 
discovered,  where  Norma  makes  a  vain  attempt 
to  kill  her  offspring — her  interview  with  Adal- 
gisa — the  last  with  Pollione,  and  that  in  which 
she  implores  her  father's  forgiveness,  and  com- 
mits her  children  to  his  care.  The  choruses  are 
remarkably  fine,  and  the  dresses,  particularly  of 
the  females,  quite  picturesque.  In  Norma's  first 
ministration  at  the  altar,  there  is  a  hymn  ad- 
dressed to  the  moon,  the  most  touching  piece  of 
vocalism  I  have  heard. 


Casta  Diva,  the  inargenti 
Queste  sacre  antiche  piante, 
A  noi  volgi  il  bel  sembiante 
Senza  nube  e  senza  vel. 

Tempra  tu  de'  cori  ardenti, 
Tempra  ancor  lo  zelo  audace, 
Spargi  in  terra  quella  pace 
Che  regnar  tu  fai  nel  ciel. 

A  noi  volgi  il  bel  sembiante 
Senza  nube  e  senza  vel. 


For  pathos,  vigor  of  acting,  and  strong  moral 
expression,  the  consummation  of  the  plot  in  this 
opera,  as  developed  by  vocal  and  dramatic  tal- 
ents of  a  high  order,  is  unsurpassed.  When  the 
young  and  gallantly  arrayed  Roman  is  brought 
before  the  Druidical  assembly,  to  answer  to  the 


FLORENCE.  73 

charge  of  haunting  their  sacred  groves,  he  sees 
Norrna  for  the  first  time  since,  on  the  detection  of 
his  estrangement,  she  overwhelmed  him  with  in- 
dignant reproaches.  And  now,  when  the  aveng- 
ing steel  is  raised  to  destroy  him,  she  solicits  her 
unsuspecting  parent  to  allow  her  a  private  inter- 
view with  the  culprit,  as  it  were  to  search  into 
the  motives  of  his  sacrilege.  The  brilliant  tem- 
ple is  deserted  by  all  but  the  proconsul  and  her 
he  has  injured.  He  quailed  not  before  the  angry 
multitude,  nor  at  the  threatening  weapon  ;  but 
the  eloquent  eye  of  Norm  a  thrills  him  with  awe. 
I  can  scarcely  imagine  a  more  commanding  dra- 
matic representation  of  woman's  dignity  and 
power  under  the  sense  of  injury,  than  is  dis- 
played in  the  majestic  mien  and  sternly  beaming 
countenance  of  Norma,  as  with  the  oak  leaf  gar- 
land upon  her  head,  her  long  dark  hair  falling 
over  white  habiliments,  and  her  symmetrical  arms 
quite  bare  and  braceleted  with  gold,  she  pauses 
before  the  awe-struck  Roman,  and  gazing  as  if 
to  read  his  soul  and  torture  with  the  gaze — 
breaks  the  spell  of  a  long  and  solemn  silence  with 
the  deeply  chanted  words— 

In  mia  mano  alfm  tu  sci. 

In    the   duet   between   Norma    and    Adalgisa, 
where   they  mingle   their   saddened   spirits   and 
mourn  together — the  one  for  love  nnretnrned,  the 
7 


74  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

other  for  love  to  be  renounced — every  note  of  the 
gamut  is  run  up  with  a  precision  and  melody 
truly  astonishing.  And  the  last  duet  between 
the  former  and  Pollione,  when,  by  her  voluntary 
self-sacrifice,  the  greatness  of  her  character  is 
revealed  to  him.  and  his  affection  is  renewed  only 
to  cheer  her  dreadful  doom,  is  melting  beyond 
description. 


NOR. — Qual  cor  tradisti.  qual  cor  perdesti 
Quest'  ora  orrenda  ti  manifest!. 
Da  te  fuggire  tentasti  invano  ; 
Crudel  Romano,  tu  sei  con  me. 
Un  nume,  un  fato  di  te  piu  forte 
Ci  vuole  uniti  in  vita  e  in  morte. 
Sul  rogo  istesso  che  mi  divora, 
Sotterra  ancora  sar5  con  te. 

POL. — Ah !  troppo  tardi  t'ho  conosciuta — 
Sublime  donna,  io  t'ho  perdula.— 
Co)  mio  rimorso  e  amor  rinato, 
Piu  disperato,  furente  egli  e. 
Moriamo  insieme,  ah  !  si,  moriamo ; 
L'estremo  accento  sara  ch'  io  t'  amo, 
Ma  tu  morendo  non  m'  abborrire 
Pria  de  morire  perdona  a  me. 


In  a  word,  I  have  seen  no  opera  which  com- 
bines so  much  that  is  interesting,  and  frequently 
sublime ;  and  wonder  not  that  in  a  country  so 
imaginative  and  musical  as  this,  and  with  such 
unrivalled  performers,  it  should  be  so  universally 
popular.  In  this,  the  city  of  its  origin,  the  Italian 
opera  seems  to  exist  in  singular  perfection,  and 


FLORENCE.  75 

its  votaries  to  evince  a  peculiar  and  discriminat- 
ing enthusiasm.* 

It  is  not  the  intensity,  hut  the  peculiar  chilli- 
ness of  the  mountain  wind,  which  renders  winter 
formidable  here.  The  difference  of  temperature, 
at  that  season,  between  the  open  country  and  in 
the  full  influence  of  the  sun,  and  that  of  the 
narrow  streets,  is  almost  incredible.  Hence  the 
period  of  nature's  renovation  is  not  less  welcome 
than  in  colder  climes.  And  when  the  ceremonies 
of  the  holy  week  were  over,  and  the  season, 
deemed  the  finest  in  Florence,  at  length  palpably 
evinced  itself,  the  mass  of  travellers  returned 
thither,  on  their  way  northward.  There  is  some- 
thing to  me  singularly  inconsistent  in  this  me- 
chanical driving  way  of  seeing  Italy.  Of  all 
countries  it  requires  especial  study,  and  calm  ha- 
bitual attention,  to  develope  its  resources.  There 
is,  indeed,  a  kind  of  pleasure,  to  one  in  good 
health  and  easily  amused,  in  flying  from  place  to 
place,  constantly  seeking  new  objects,  and  ex- 
hausting none.  But  this  is  surely  a  mere  nega- 
tive enjoyment.  The  individual  thus  intent  upon 
self-gratification,  may  find  it  elsewhere,  and  by 
other  means.  The  peculiar  satisfaction  deriva- 
ble in  this  land,  to  one  of  us  denizens  of  the  new, 
the  active,  the  bustling  world,  is  found  in  its 
quiet  air,  its  contemplative  spirit,  in  the  imagina- 


*  Politiano  is  said  to  have  originated  the  Italian  opera,  in  his  "  Or- 
feo." 


76  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

tive  character  of  the  amusements,  in  the  calm 
impulse  by  which,  under  such  circumstances,  the 
current  of  existence  is  urged  along.  The  per- 
vading musical  spirit  of  the  Florentines  seemed 
to  break  out  anew  as  the  genial  season  advanced, 
and  no  time  were  the  opera  airs,  chanted  by 
persons  of  almost  every  class,  as  they  walk  the 
streets  at  night,  heard  more  frequently. 

The  Florentines,  and  indeed  the  Tuscans  gen- 
erally are,  as  far  as  my  observation  extended,  the 
happiest  Italians; — more  liberally  governed  they 
certainly  are.  But  the  number  of  paupers  and 
improvidents,  even  here,  must  strike  an  American 
visitor;  and  blindness,  or  affections  of  the  eyes, 
are  remarkably  common.  Yet  the  peculiar  toll 
of  the  bell  which  calls  out  the  Miser  icordia  is 
comparatively  seldom  heard.  This  is  an  ancient 
institution,  the  members  of  which,  at  a  certain 
summons,  array  themselves  in  sackcloth  dominos, 
and  hasten  to  execute  whatever  charitable  office 
the  occasion  demands.  The  brethren  are  buried 
by  the  society,  whose  dark  forms,  bearing  a  body, 
sometimes  glide  fearfully  upon  the  sight,  their 
torches  flickering  in  the  noon-day  light,  and  their 
measured  tread  echoing  among  the  busy  streets 
quite  solemnly. 

Although  my  early  and  favorable  impressions 
of  this  city  were  confirmed,  yet,  in  one  respect, 
many  are  liable  to  disappointment.  With  the 
imaginative  expectancy  natural  to  the  inexperi- 
enced, we  may  have  pictured  an  inland  Italian 


FLORENCE.  77 

city  as  a  quiet  spot,  whose  very  air  is  redolent 
with  the  mellowness  of  age,  and  whose  every  ob- 
ject, from  the  lowly  dwelling  to  the  magnificent 
church,  is  rich  in  the  interest  of  antiquity.  Here, 
on  the  contrary,  there  is  much  which  resembles 
Avhat  may  be  called  the  natural  language  of  a 
modern  metropolis.  The  constant  cry  of  the 
venders,  the  hurrying  to  and  fro  of  busy  feet,  the 
restlessness  of  trade,  and  the  gaudy  bustle  of  plea- 
sure— all  are  here,  and  they  break  in  too  rudely 
upon  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  scene,  antiquated 
as  are  some  of  its  features,  to  permit  of  more  than 
the  occasional  indulgence  of  that  romantic  illu- 
sion with  which  we  are  fain  to  tint  the  sterner 
outlines  of  reality.  Yet  there  are  times  and  as- 
pects which  carry  the  meditative  into  the  region 
where  they  most  delight  to  expatiate — the  region 
of  imaginative  thought.  The  pleasure  of  a  morn- 
ing's lounge  in  the  gallery  of  the  Pitti,  or  the 
Tribune,  of  a  retrospective  hour  in  the  holy  pre- 
cincts of  .St.  Croce.  above  the  "dust  which  makes 
them  holier/''  of  a  sunset  view  from  the  beautiful 
bridge  of  Santa  Trinita,  of  an  evening's  walk 
along  the  Arno.  of  listening  and  gazing  within 
the  chaste  walls  of  the  Pergola — all  this  would 
seem  tame  in  description,  but  in  reality  it  is  en- 
trancing. It  is,  too.  morally  exciting,  when  the 
moon  is  careering  high  in  the  heavens,  to  walk 
around  the  spacious  square  of  the  Duomo,  and 
look  up  at  the  Cathedral  and  beautiful  greco-ara- 
bic  campanile  beside  it.  illuminated  by  a  light  so 


78  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

in  unison  with  their  own  dusky  yet  rich  hues,  so 
revealing  to  the  mammoth  proportions  of  the  one, 
and  the  towering  but  simple  elegance  of  the  other. 
When  the  wide  space  around  reflects  no  sound 
but  the  faint  echo  of  a  solitary  pedestrian,  stand- 
ing in  full  view  of  such  a  grand  and  time-hal- 
lowed result  of  human  art,  and  remembering  how 
oft  the  same  lonely  orb  has  bathed  in  silver  ra- 
diance the  old  dome  and  pinnacles — more  faithful 
in  the  still  tenderness  of  her  nightly  greetings 
than  the  evanescent  and  inconstant  sentiment  of 
man — the  idea  of  Italy  and  her  intellectual  noble- 
ness comes  home  like  a  realized  dream  to  the 
heart. 


NAPLES. 


'J  Naples,  lliou  heart  of  men,  which  ever  pantest 
Naked  beneath  the  lidlcss  e\'e  of  heaven! 

Elysiau  cit}r,  which  to  calm  cnchantcst 

The  mutinous  air  and  sea !  they  round  thce,  even 

As  sleep  round  Love,  arc  driven  !  " 


THE  cdleche  which  we  took  in  the  suburbs  soon 
brought  us  in  front  of  the  high  mound  denomi- 
nated Virgil's  tomb.  As  my  immediate  arrange- 
ments precluded  a  minute  inspection,  I  could 
only  sigh  at  the  discrepancy  between  the  ideal 
and  actual  spot.  Such  en  passant  reflections 
were  soon  dissipated  by  the  curious  and  anti- 
quated scene  in  which  we  almost  immediately 
found  ourselves.  This  was  no  other  than  the 
Grotto  of  Posilipo,  a  cavern  road,  excavated  so 
long  ago  that  the  date  of  the  work  is  lost,  through 
the  high  mount  which  divides  Naples  from  Poz- 
zuoli.  We  rode  along  this  remarkable  highway 
for  the  distance  of  half  a  mile.  Its  obscurity  is 
only  rendered  more  mysterious  by  the  dim  light 
of  the  lamps  occasionally  suspended  upon  the 


80  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

sides,  and  the  broad  glare  of  day  seen  at  either 
end,  through  the  dark  perspective. 

A  few  moments'  ride,  after  emerging,  brought 
us  upon  the  sea-side,  along  which  the  remainder 
of- our  course  lay.  Upon  a  jutting  point  appeared 
Pozzuoli,  an  ancient  town,  while  the  hill-side, 
skirting  our  road  on  the  right,  displayed  strata  of 
lava.  Having  discharged  our  conveyance,  we 
proceeded  to  the  old  mole,  considerable  remnants 
of  which  still  exist,  and  then  hastened  to  the 
ruins  of  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Serapis.  Three 
very  lofty  columns  alone  remain  standing,  but 
several  large  fragments  lie  scattered  around.  The 
remaining  exterior  walls  clearly  indicate  the  ori- 
ginal dimensions  and  shape  of  the  temple,  which 
was  evidently  on  the  highest  scale  of  magnifi- 
cence. Indeed,  no  remain  of  this  class  presented 
to  me  such  a  literal  ruin  as  this.  More  than  a 
foot  of  water  covers  the  extensive  marble  floor, 
which  slimy  weeds  completely  hide.  A  ring  and 
several  broken  vessels  are  discoverable,  denoting 
the  sacrifices  of  which  it  has  been  the  scene. 
One  of  the  columnar  fragments  is  eaten,  in  a 
most  remarkable  degree,  by  a  species  of  insect- — 
the  incisions  being  as  large  as  an  augur-hole. 
Near  the  ruins  are  remains  of  sulphur,  vapor  and 
mineral  baths. 

Our  attention  was  drawn  to  the  amphitheatre — 
a  ruin  in  excellent  preservation.  We  were  able 
to  walk,  for  a  long  space,  between  the  two  walls, 
within  which  are  the  caves  for  wild  beasts,  and 


NAPLES.  31 

exteriorly,  the  shape  is  discernible.  The  arena 
is  covered  with  trees.  They  were  destitute  of 
verdure,  and  the  intervening  space,  thickly  sown 
with  grain,  the  green  shoots  of  which  had  already 
put  forth  from  a  soil  doubtless  fertilized  with 
human  blood,  presented  to  the  casual  spectator 
anything  rather  than  a  spot  where  cruelty  had 
often  triumphed,  and  suffering  been  Romanly  en- 
dured. The  splfatura,  or  manufacture  of  sulphur 
and  alum,  from  the  native  material,  furnished 
yet  another  object  in  the  vicinity.  The  process, 
from  the  absence  of  any  considerable  apparatus, 
is  apparently  very  simple — probably  little  more 
than  the  melting  and  straining  of  the  original 
substances,  of  which  the  surrounding  hills  are  in 
a  great  measure  composed.  Where  large  exca- 
vations have  been  made,  boiling  springs  have 
issued,  the  odor  of  which  is  tremendous.  In 
many  places,  the  ground  beneath  seemed  hollow, 
and  I  fancied  I  heard  volcanic  rumblings. 

Resuming  our  walk,  we  passed  over  the  moun- 
tain-side, where  there  is  a  very  rough,  though 
somewhat  worn  path.  The  sun  had  just  passed 
his  meridian,  and  the  heat  and  exercise  soon  pro- 
duced considerable  fatigue,  so  that  we  were  glad 
to  dine  on  the  campagna  bread  and  wine,  in  the 
cottage  of  a  contadina.  Having  reached  the  Lake 
d'Agnano,  and  admired  its  placid  beauty,  we 
found  it  impossible  to  enter  the  grotto  del  cane,  or 
see  the  experiment  from  which  it  derives  its 
name,  as  the  cnstodc,  like  most  of  his  neighbors, 


§2  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

had  gone  to  enjoy  the  festa  within  the  city.  But 
I  had  seen  enough  of  nature's  gaseous  operations 
for  one  day,  and  could  too  easily  imagine  this, 
to  regret  the  accident  of  not  witnessing  it. 

About  an  hour's  rapid  walking  brought  me 
once  more  to  the  grotto  wood,  through  which  I 
passed,  and  was  again  in  Naples.  Upon  reaching 
the  chiaja,  the  placid  waters  of  the  broad  bay, 
the  red  streak  upon  Vesuvius,  the  busy,  mingled 
and  noisy  crowd — all  accorded  with  Avhat  I  had 
read,  and  almost  with  what  I  had  imagined  of 
the  city.  Upon  the  square  in  front  of  the  royal 
palace,  the  church  of  St.  Francisco  appeared, 
studded  with  small  lights  upon  the  top  of  the 
corridors,  domes  and  cross.  In  a  few  moments, 
at  a  signal  fired  from  below,  far  brighter  and 
larger  flames  flashed  up  in  the  intervening 
spaces,  exhibiting  the  statues  in  broad  relief, 
and  the  square  filled  with  an  admiring  populace. 
The  Toledo,  too,  was  crowded,  and  every  house 
illuminated  :  it  was  the  evening  of  the  king's 
birth-day:  and  his  seemingly  happy  subjects,  of 
every  class,  rank  and  calling,  were  abroad  and 
active. 

The  weather  being  very  unpromising  on  the 
succeeding  morning,  I  had  determined  to  pass  it 
within  the  city',  as  profitably  as  might  be,  and 
having  visited  several  churches,  and  taken  a 
glimpse  of  the  large  dull  chambers  of  the  court  of 
justice,  I  entered  the  celebrated  museum,  which 
contains,  among  sundry  other  curiosities,  the  dis- 


NAPLES. 


83 


interred  relics  of  another  age  and  a  by-gone  people 
— the  various  articles,  rescued  from  Herculaneum 
and  Pompeii.  After  inspecting  the  strange  and 
frequently  beautiful  frescos,  I  entered  the  gallery 
of  sculpture,  and  viewed  the  innumerable  busts  of 
heroic,  political  and  philosophical  characters  col- 
lected there — the  statues  of  emperors,  of  heathen 
divinities,  of  fabulous  beings,  of  men  venerated 
for  ages  for  their  virtues  or  wisdom,  or  "  damned 
to  fame"  for  their  licentious  use  of  temporary 
power.  I  found  myself  somewhat  familiar  with 
the  forms  and  features  of  these  personages,  hav- 
ing become  partially  acquainted  therewith  during 
my  visit  to  the  other  galleries  of  Italy.  I  was 
particularly  delighted  with  a  statue  of  Aristides. 
the  position  of  which  seems  truly  inimitable.  It 
breathes  the  very  spirit  of  that  dignity  which 
is  founded  solely  upon  moral  pre-eminence.  I 
gazed  with  interest  upon  the  trophies  from  Egypt, 
the  remarkable  idols,  the  well  preserved  mum- 
mies, the  labored  hieroglyphics ;  and  with  won- 
der upon  the  bronzes,  preserved,  it  is  difficult  to 
tell  how,  from  the  effect  of  a  heat  apparently 
intense  enough  to  melt  them  into  their  original 
crude  forms.  Deeming  this  view  of  the  lower 
halls  sufficient  for  one  day,  and  finding  that  the 
threatened  sirocco  was  destined  to  be  less  formi- 
dable than  I  imagined,  I  left  Naples,  and  in 
about  two  hours,  was  walking  beneath  the  half 
obscure  sky  of  a  mild  afternoon,  through  a  city 
whose  inhabitants  vanished  from  the  earth  like  a 


84  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

mist,  and  whose  glory,  if  glory  consists  in  fame, 
results,  not  like  that  of  other  places,  from  the 
hallowing  actions  of  mankind,  but  from  the  de- 
structive operations  of  nature : — I  was  in  Pom- 
peii. With  what  feelings  of  curiosity  and  awe 
did  I  tread  upon  the  very  pavement  where,  two 
thousand  years  ago,  hundreds  of  my  fellow  beings 
moved  to  and  fro,  with  all  the  carelessness,  the 
eagerness  of  pursuit,  the  selfishness  of  purpose, 
with  which  another  race  so  long  trod  above  their 
entombed  habitations  !  Stripped  as  Pompeii  is 
of  those  objects  which  rendered  it,  when  first  dis- 
covered, the  greatest  of  wonders,  the  very  sight 
of  houses,  shops,  theatres  and  temples,  broken 
and  imperfect  as  they  are.  where  ages  ago  this 
wonderful  phenomenon  of  human  existence  was 
carried  on,  and  its  several  elements  sustained, 
even  as  at  present — this  is  most  wonderful,  most 
exciting.  We  seem  to  know,  as  never  before, 
that  human  nature  has  ever  been  the  same — the 
same  in  its  wants,  if  not  the  same  in  its  resources. 
There  are  those  who  can  witness  the  passing 
away  of  one  of  the  myriads  of  men  which  people 
the  earth,  or  stand  among  the  congregated  tombs 
of  their  kind,  and  yet  feel  no  light  shed  upon  the 
darkness  of  their  scepticism,  and  doubt  a  better 
destiny  for  man,  even  over  the  gloomy  consum- 
mation of  his  physical  existence.  But  who  can 
enter  the  living  tomb  of  a  civilized  people,  which 
has  appeared,  almost  magically,  after  the  lapse 
of  centuries,  and  not  yield,  without  resistance,  to 


NAPLES.  §5 

its  most  eloquent  teachings?  Viewing  the  iden- 
tical means  of  life,  bodily  and  mental,  that  were 
wrought  by  an  extinct  race  for  the  gratification 
of  their  native  propensities,  and  computing  the 
degree  of  thought,  the  exercise  of  sentiment  here 
unfolded,  can  any  one  believe  that  the  fiery 
masses  which  failed  to  destroy  these  conventional 
means,  palsied  in  oblivion  the  energies  that  cre- 
ated them? 

Pompeii,  its  history,  the  particulars  of  its  disin- 
terment,  the  objects  it  presents,  are  familiar  to 
the  mind  of  almost  every  one.  We  can  scarcely 
hope,  in  its  present  state,  to  do  more  than  realize 
our  abstract  ideas  concerning  it,  One  impression 
the  observant  visitor  of  this  day  cannot  but  carry 
away;  and  that  is,  that  its  yet  undiscovered 
treasures  will  exceed  all  that  the  past  has  un- 
folded. 

Under  favorable  auspices,  I  commenced  mov- 
ing, upon  a  donkey,  from  the  village  of  Resina 
towards  Vesuvius,  through  a  kind  of  lane  choked 
up  with  earth  and  stones.  Two  hours  of  slow 
riding  brought  me  to  the  first  elevation,  where 
stands  a  cottage  called  the  Hermitage,  inhabited 
by  an  old  monk,  and  affording  shelter  to  the 
guards  upon  the  mountain.  My  course  became 
then  confined  to  a  mule-path,  so  much  impeded 
by  the  heavy  masses  of  lava,  that  none  but  the 
experienced  animal  I  bestrode  could  have  made 
a  way  along  its  rough  and  broken  surface.  I 
was  soon  upon  a  vast  plain  of  crude  black  lava, 


•*  * 


86  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

thrown  into  a  thousand  accidental  forms,  and 
presenting  a  wide  scene  of  utter  desolation.  At 
the  foot  of  Vesuvius,  properly  so  called,  I  left 
the  animal,  and  commenced  climbing  the  steep 
ascent.  Being  obliged  to  tread  solely  upon  the 
craggy  projections  or  small  fragments  of  the  lava, 
and  sometimes  upon  ashes  only,  the  process  proved 
exceedingly  fatiguing.  Although  in  part  sustained 
by  the  guide,  by  means  of  the  horse's  bridle.  I 
was  several  times  obliged  to  sit  down  upon  some 
projecting  point,  and  collect  breath  for  a  fresh 
effort.  Proceeding  thus,  I  at  length  reached  the 
comparatively  level  space  immediately  below  the 
uppermost  elevation.  Here,  as  I  advanced  to- 
wards the  new  crater,  the  crackling  of  the  porous 
masses,  and  the  bellowing  of  the  smoke-pouring 
summit,  were  sufficiently  appalling.  Occasion- 
ally the  boiling  sulphur  was  seen  oozing  from 
some  little  crevice,  and  the  surface  which  sus- 
tained my  wayward  footsteps,  seemed  about  to 
fall  beneath  them. 

I  approached  near  enough  to  the  new  crater  to 
inhale  the  sulphurous  exhalations,  and  become 
sensible  of  its  potent  heat.  In  its  immediate 
ATicinity,  where  the  outer  crust  was  broken,  and 
the  liquid  flames  roaring  and  bursting  through 
the  aperture,  several  peasants  were  moulding  the 
glowing  lava  into  coarse  medallions,  as  coolly  as 
if  at  work  over  a  forge.  Having  breathed  the 
suffocating  air,  and  roamed  over  the  heated  sco- 
riae, as  long  as  prudence  permitted,  I  began  to 


NAPLES.  87 

retrace  my  steps.  My  passage  down  the  moun- 
tain was  wonderfully  expeditious,  as  I  almost 
slid  upon  the  fine  ashes,  and  had  only  to  guard 
against  falling.  During  the  descent,  and  from 
the  summit,  the  view  was  surprisingly  beautiful, 
comprising  a  complete  panorama  of  Naples,  its 
unrivalled  bay  and  adjacent  villages. 

Being  again  favored  with  a  remarkably  fine 
day  for  the  season,  I  retraced  my  course  to  Poz- 
zuoli,  and  continued  along  the  sea  until  I  reached 
the  Lucrine  Lake,  which  is  so  near  the  water's 
edge  that  a  small  connecting  canal  has  been 
formed  across  the  road.  Dismounting,  I  walked 
around  this  calm  and  apparently  shallow  sheet 
of  water,  then  threaded  a  pleasant  winding  path, 
which  finally  brought  me  to  the  lake  of  Avernus, 
upon  the  banks  of  which  is  the  Sybil's  cave.  I 
inspected,  with  an  attention  which  the  scenery 
itself  never  would  have  elicited,  the  scene  so 
minutely  described  by  Virgil,  and  said  to  have 
suggested  his  idea  of  the  infernal  regions.  1 
next  stopped  at  the  ruins  of  Nero's  villa,  and 
especially  observed  the  vapor-baths  below,  formed 
by  the  sea-water,  heated  by  the  volcanic  elements 
beneath  the  bank,  and  thence  sending  up  vol- 
umes of  saline  and  sulphureous  steam.  Through 
several  crevices  this  vapor  escapes  exteriorly,  but 
its  chief  outlet  is  into  what  originally  constituted 
the  subterraneous  apartments  of  the  villa. 

Continuing  rapidly  on  our  way  to  Baia3,  I  de- 
scended into  the  old  dungeons  of  a  Roman  prison, 


83  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

and  visited  the  antique,  arched  and  labored  res- 
ervoir in  its  vicinity.  I  was  thus  soon  in  view 
of  a  large  expanse  of  water,  separated  from  the 
Mediterranean  by  a  narrow  and  marshy  fen,  and 
bounded  on  the  right  by  a  slightly  declining  hill, 
partially  cultivated — the  Stygian  lake  and  Ely- 
sian  fields  of  the  great  Mantuan  !  A  promontory 
stretching  into  the  sea,  and  forming,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  land  on  which  I  stood,  a  small  bay, 
is  the  port  Misenum.  The  paths  leading  to  these 
sites,  together  forming  the  whole  landscape  so 
minutely  described  in  the  Eneid,  were  worn  by 
the  pilgrimages  of  travellers.  The  very  children 
of  the  village  knew  my  purpose,  and  verbosely 
designated  the  localities.  What  an  indirect  but 
indisputable  testimony  is  this  to  truths  which 
many  are  fain  theoretically  to  deny.  Many  a 
hill  and  vale,  many  an  extent  of  water  and  tract 
of  cultivated  land  of  surpassing  beauty,  lies  un- 
admired  amid  the  vastness  of  our  continent;  and 
yet  these  localities,  even  when  bereft  of  the 
flowery  accompaniments  of  spring,  and  undecked 
with  the  golden  splendors  of  autumn,  are  lingered 
over  by  devotees  of  every  country  with  an  inter- 
est and  sentiment  that  nature's  highest  glories 
fail  to  inspire.  And  all  this  because  an  ancient 
and  beautiful  poet  was  wont  to  wander  there,  and 
is  thought  thence  to  have  derived  many  of  his 
descriptive  ideas.  In  truth,  where  the  master 
spirits  of  the  earth  have  been,  or  whatever  spots 
their  recorded  thoughts  have  hallowed,  there  is 


NAPLES.  gg 

ever  after  an  unfailing  attraction  to  beings  of  a 
like  nature. 

Returning,  I  examined  the  octangular  brick- 
work remain  of  the  temple  of  Venus,  and  the 
more  perfect  remnant  of  that  of  Neptune.  Baia3 
and  its  vicinity  were  evidently  favorite  resorts  of 
the  old  Romans.  Everywhere  the.  foundations  of 
a  wall,  the  archway  of  a  subterranean  apartment, 
or  a  broken  and  crude  mass  of  plastered  brick- work, 
denote  the  former  existence  of  extensive  buildings. 
The  Cnmaean  amphitheatre  and  lava-paved  road 
were  passed  on  my  way  to  Naples.  The  lovely 
and  expansive  view  from  the  garden  above  Vir- 
gil's tomb,  an  excursion  in  the  beautiful  bay,  and 
a  few  walks  amid  the  gaudiness,  bustle  and  beg- 
gary of  the  city,  completed  my  experiences  here. 
It  is  only  in  the  environs  that  we  find  that  tran- 
quil classic  scenery  for  which  Italy  is  renowned. 
There,  when  balmy  weather  prevails,  every  object 
breathes  the  quiet  and  picturesque  influence  of 
antiquated  art  and  hallowed  nature. 

I  had  threaded  the  ever-bustling  street  of  the 
Toledo,  and  satiated,  for  the  time  being,  my  pas- 
sion for  observation,  in  glancing  at  the  motley 
specimens  of  humanity  so  characteristic  of  the 
over-populated  cities  of  Europe.  The  splendid 
equipages  of  wealth,  hard  pressed  by  the  low 
carts  of  the  market  venders ;  the  gaily-accoutred 
exquisites  of  the  metropolis ;  the  coarsely  clad 
peasant;  the  maimed  and  wo-begone  mendicant; 
the  buffoons  and  the  soldiery ;  the  dark-robed 


90  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

priest  and  the  bewildered  stranger,  combine  to 
render  this  a  scene  unequalled  for  the  contrasts  it 
presents,  and  the  sounds  of  which  it  is  redolent. 
These  contrasts  I  had  gazed  upon  till  the  eye 
and  the  heart  were  alike  weary ;  these  sounds  I 
had  endured  till  their  deafening  noise  was  insup- 
portable ;  and  entering  the  Coronna  di  Ferro,  a 
tratoria.  renowned  for  its  beef-steaks  served  up  a 
la  mode  Anglais.  1  prepared  to  discuss  mine,  and 
eschew,  for  a  while,  the  ceaseless  confusion  of  the 
grand  sfrada. 

My  neighbor  at  the  table  proffered  a  kindly 
word,  and  I  turned  to  mark  him.  He  was  a 
young  man  of  graceful  mien,  with  the  dark  elo- 
quent eye  of  the  country,  and  his  pale  complex- 
ion and  expression  of  thoughtful  intelligence 
betokened  an  intellectual  character.  llVoi  siete 
Inglese,  Signor?'1''  he  inquired.  "No,"  I  replied, 
"Sono  Americano;" — at  the  word  his  eye  bright- 
ened, and  a  sentiment  of  romantic  interest  seemed 
to  excite  him.  He  spoke  enthusiastically  of 
Washington  and  Franklin,  and  insisted  upon  an 
adjournment  to  his  lodgings.  I  found  him  to  be 
a  Sicilian  by  birth,  and  a  poet  by  profession.  He 
was  very  curious  to  learn  the  extent  of  the  liberty 
of  the  press  in  America ;  and  when  informed, 
was  in  alternate  raptures  and  dejection :  the  idea 
of  such  freedom  transported  him,  but  the  thought 
of  his  own  political  relations  soon  subdued  and 
saddened  his  spirit.  He  struck  his  hand  despond- 
ingly  upon  a  pile  of  manuscripts,  the  publication 


NAPLES.  91 

of  which  the  censors  had  prohibited,  on  the 
ground  of  their  liberality  of  sentiment.  Pacing 
the  room,  and  exclaiming  enthusiastically  at  my 
descriptions,  the  poor  bard  seemed  ready  to  throw 
himself  into  the  first  vessel  which  could  convey 
him  from  a  land  so  favorable  to  the  inspiration, 
and  inimical  to  the  development  of  the  divine  art. 
I  was  interested  in  the  expedient  he  had  adopted 
to  gratify  his  restricted  muse.  He  was  deep  in 
the  study  of  Natural  History,  and  was  devoting 
himself  to  the  poetical  illustration  of  this  subject, 
reserving  visions  of  liberty  for  the  especial  sub- 
jects of  his  umcritien  poetry.  Upon  parting,  I 
eave  him  a  volume  of  selections  from  Byron,  as 
he  was  studying  the  English  tongue:  he  pressed 
the  bel!o  regalo  to  his  heart,  and  promising  to 
write,  embraced  me.  and  we  parted. 


VENICE. 


"  Queen  of  cities  ! 

Goddess  of  ocean  !  with  the  beaut}'  crowned 
Of  Aphrodite  from  her  parent  deep  ! 
If  thine  Ausonian  heaven  denies  the  strength 
That  nerves  a  mountain  race  of  sterner  mould, 
It  gives  tlice  charms  whose  very  softness  wins 
All  hearts  to  worship." 


EARLY  on  the  day  succeeding  rny  arrival  in 
Venice,  I  was  lolling  upon  the  cushioned  seats, 
and  beneath  the  little  dark  awning  of  a  gondola, 
and  was  thus  carried  along  through  numberless 
canals ;  the  stroke  of  the  oar,  and  occasional 
salutation  of  the  gondolier  alone  breaking  upon 
the  impressive  quietness.  Passing  by  the  old  and 
seemingly  deserted  habitations  which  line  the  less 
public  ways,  I  silently  but  thoughtfully  contem- 
plated the  surrounding  scene.  One  moment  glid- 
ing beneath  one  of  the  many  short  but  massive 
bridges,  another  sailing  noiselessly  under  a  win- 
dow whence  some  listless  observer  was  gazing, 
now  coming  almost  in  contact  with  a  passing 


94  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

gondola,  and  again  occupying  the  solitary  waters 
of  a  minor  course.  The  steps  and  lower  portions 
of  the  buildings,  green  with  humid  vegetation, 
the  mouldering  walls,  the  sad  repose  pf  neglect, 
and  the  palpable  evidences  of  time's  corroding 
finger,  were  circumstances  too  unique  not  to  be 
observed,  and  too  interesting  to  be  unimpressive. 

I  was  introduced  by  the  custode  of  the  Tribunal 
of  Justice,  upon  the  Bridge  of  Sighs — the  lofty 
and  covered  archway  connecting  the  prison  and 
palace.  I  found  it  an  exceedingly  massive  struc- 
ture, consisting  of  two  passages,  the  two  en- 
trances communicating  with  the  general  prison, 
and  one  of  the  two  leading  into  the  palace  being 
closed  up.  By  examining  the  locality,  I  soon 
perceived  the  erroj^hich  has  been  justly  ascribed 
to  Byron,  that  gf  supposing  that  a  passage  from 
the  palace  to  the  prison  was  a  fatal  path.  On  the 
contrary,  he  who  was  so  happy  as  to  escape  the 
condemnation  of  "the  Ten,"  was  acquitted,  or 
remanded  to  his  former  cell,  instead  of  being  con- 
signed by  the  private  stair-case  to  the  secret  dun- 
geons beneath.  Hence  to  him,  in  either  case,  the 
path  was  joyful  rather  than  sad.  Well,  however, 
may  such  a  heavy  and  short  way  between  the 
tribunal  and  the  jail  be  called  the  Ponte  dl  Sos- 
piri ;  for  it  must  full  often  have  re-echoed  the 
heavy  sighs  of  innumerable  sufferers.  Descend- 
ing by  the  golden  stairs,  so  called,  I  was  guided 
to  the  awful  prisons  beneath,  and  examined  the 
rude  inscriptions  and  bloody  stains  still  existent 


VENICE.  95 

in  the  gloomy  vaults,  so  long  the  secret  scenes  of 
suffering  and  destruction.* 

Landing  near  the  church  of  St.  Georgio  Mag- 
giore,  I  admired,  for  some  time,  its  architectural 
neatness  and  simple  grandeur.  Next  proceeding 
to  the  Chiesa  di  Carmelitani,  I  was  much  inter- 
ested in  examining  the  numerous  precious  mar- 
bles which  line  its  interior.  Much  time  was 
consumed  in  viewing  some  of  the  most  important 
churches,  and  in  perusing  the  peculiar  architec- 
ture of  many  of  the  crumbling  and  blackened 
palaces  bordering  the  main  canal.  I  remarked 
that  the  former  edifices  were  much  lighter,  and 
the  marbles  more  vivid  than  is  the  case  with  most 
of  the  churches,  out  of  Lombardy,  which  I  had 
previously  seen.  In  one  of  tjppe  I  was  interest- 
ingly occupied  in  viewing  the  monument  to  Ca- 
nova;  one  of  the  sculptured  figures  which  adorn 
it  carries  an  urn  containing  the  heart  of  the  great 
artist.  The  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts  engaged 
much  of  my  attention.  In  what  has  been  called 
Titian's  master-piece — the  Assumption,  there 
seemed  to  me  exceeding  richness  without  corres- 
ponding effect;  but  in  the  Marriage  of  Cana, 
by  Pardaronino,  I  deemed  the  countenance  of  the 
bride  one  of  the  most  beautiful  faces  I  had  seen 


*  As  we  crossed  the  square  of  St.  Marks,  we  remarked  that  the 
pigeons  did  not  fly  hastily  at  our  approach,  and  remembered  with  inter- 
est, that  they  were  privileged  natives  of  the  place,  having  been,  during 
and  since  the  republic,  under  the  special  protection  of  government. 


96  ITALIAN  SKETpH  BOOK. 

upon  canvass,  with  the  exception  of  several  of 
Raphael's  Madonnas. 

The  more  I  saw  of  this  peculiar  school  of 
painting  called  Venetian,  the  more  was  1  capti- 
vated with  its  unrivalled  richness  and  depth  of 
coloring,  and  the  more  regretful  of  its  frequent 
lack  of  powerful  expression.  This  latter  quality 
seems  pre-eminently  requisite  for  the  production 
of  anything  like  permanent  impression  upon  the 
mind  of  the  spectator.  When  I  recall  some  of 
Raphael's  works,  the  sentiment  embodied  in  the 
picture  is  before  me,  and  strongly  identified  with 
his  unequalled  images ;  but  even  after  a  compara- 
tively short  interval,  many  of  the  larger  pictures 
of  the  Venetian  school  were  merged,  in  my  imagi- 
nation, in  the  splendor  of  their  own  gorgeous 
hues. 

I  next  disembarked  at  the  Rialto,  interesting 
from  its  Shakspearian  associations.  Alas!  no 
rich  Venetian  merchants  are  now  to  be  seen  upon 
its  still  bustling  walk,  though  every  traveller  will 
find  something  of  the  Shy  lock  spirit  lingering  yet. 
A  subsequent  object  was  the  Arsenal,  where  the 
antique  statues  before  the  entrance,  the  various 
instruments  of  war  and  torture,  and  the  models 
of  the  old  barques,  proved  quite  curious,  and 
worthy  of  attention.  Several  fettered  workmen, 
prisoners,  passed  to  and  fro  in  the  extensive 
yards,  and  the  appearance  of  active  business  was 
striking  for  this  part  of  the  world. 


VENICE.  97 

I  walked  through  the  lower  hall,  and  up  the 
deserted  stair-case  of  the  Palazzo  Barbarigo,  with 
a  sentiment  of  melancholy  sympathy  for  the 
changes  which  time  and  events  have  wrought 
within  and  without  it.  Here  are  the  very  rooms 
which  were  graced  with  the  presence  of  a  venera- 
ble ancestry  of  Venetian  nobles,  which  had  been 
the  home  of  a  Doge,  the  studio  where  some  of 
Titian's  best  efforts  were  completed,  and  the  final 
scene  of  his  being.  Long  did  I  sit  in  the  front 
room,  in  one  of  the  old  gilded  chairs,  gazing  upon 
his  Venus  and  Magdalene,  but  especially  up  at 
the  weeping,  yet  lovely  countenance  of  the  latter, 
looming  upon  the  air  through  the  encrustment  of 
three  hundred  years  of  time  and  neglect.  I 
turned,  too,  frequently,  to  look  upon  the  painting 
of  his  daughter  in  the  embrace  of  a  Satyr,  and 
that  member  of  the  illustrious  family  who  patron- 
ized his  young  genius,  and  whom  he  has  so 
graphically  depicted  in  his  ducal  cap.  The  old 
Turkey  carpet  beneath  my  feet,  the  ancient  por- 
traiture around  me,  the  musty  odor  of  the  apart- 
ment, and  the  deep  quiet  which  prevailed,  forced 
me  to  feel  that  I  was  indeed  in  the  palace  of  an 
old  Venetian,  and  that  this  very  room  had  echoed 
the  voice  and  witnessed  the  anxious  labors  of  one 
of  the  most  admired  of  the  old  masters. 

I  proceeded  to  a  scene  of  observation  antici- 
pated with  feelings  much  more  deep  than  had 
been  aroused  by  other  similar  expectancies.  I 
was  about  to  enter  an  aged  and  peculiar  fabric, 
9 


98  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

around  which  some  of  the  strongest  associations 
of  the  place  are  clustered.  In  Rome  there  is 
great  generality  in  the  spontaneous  interest  with 
which  we  regard  her  antiquities.  Here  an  indi- 
vidual action,  and  there  a  remarkable  event,  hal- 
lows the  locality  or  the  architectural  fragment. 
One  may  have  his  favorite  scene  of  history,  or 
select  from  the  scattered  mass  a  single  object;  but 
the  principle  in  human  nature,  which  is  the  true 
spring  of  enjoyment  in  such  observations— the 
principle  of  association — is  linked  with  the  whole 
site  of  an  ancient  city's  greatness  and  decline ; 
and  the  Forum,  Coliseum,  Tombs,  Pillars  and 
works  of  art,  while  they  realize  more  perfectly 
the  local  ideas  of  the  observer,  do  not,  for  that 
reason,  dissever  them  from  their  general  object — 
from  Rome  as  a  whole.  But  here,  there  is  one 
comparatively  small,  and  therefore  intensely  in- 
teresting point,  where  are  concentrated  the  vari- 
ous historical  associations,  from  the  brightest  to 
the  most  mournful;  there  is  one  scene  teeming 
with  the  dream-like  memory  of  that  peculiar 
government,  and  of  those  thrilling  events,  which 
render  the  very  idea  of  Venice  so  richly  attractive 
to  the.  imagination  and  the  heart. 

And  upon  this  spot  I  stood,  amid  these  shadow- 
ers  forth  of  the  past.  The  dark  gothic  form  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  was  before  me,  and  I  slowly  entered 
the  main  portal,  ascended  the  marble  stairs,  and 
was  upon  the  very  spot  where  the  successive 
Doges  of  the  republic  were  crowned,  and  where 


VENICE.  99 

Marino  Faliero  was  decapitated;  before  me  the 
richly  wrought  marble  gallery  of  the  Senate,  and 
at  my  right,  the  apertures  to  which  the  lions' 
heads  were  attached,  into  whose  extended  jaws  so 
many  fatal  messages  of  destruction  were  dropped. 
I  thought  of  the  grave,  richly  robed  forms  of  the 
Venetian  Fathers;  of  the  trembling  hands  and 
wandering  glances  of  the  anonymous  accusers ; 
of  the  gay  peopling  of  those  silent  corridors  on 
the  day  when  the  new  Doge  entered  upon  his 
office ;  of  the  happy,  yet  dignified  bearing  of  the 
patriarchs  themselves,  when  they  were  thus  ush- 
ered into  the  highest  station  of  the  republic ;  of 
the  sad  sternness  of  the  old  war-stricken  soldier, 
who  died  ignominiously  where  his  fairest  laurel 
was  won ;  of  his  young  and  despairing  wife,  and 
of  the  outcry  of  the  impatient  multitude  at  the 
gate— 

"  Slave,  do  thine  office  ! 
Strike  as  I  struck  the  foe !     Strike  as  I  would 
Have  struck  those  tyrants  !     Strike  deep  as  my  curse ; 
Strike — and  but  once ! " 

A  few  moments  elapsed,  and  I  was  within  the 
Grand  Council  Chamber,  upon  the  immense  walls 
of  which  are  pictured,  in  tints  which  time  has 
only  mellowed,  some  of  the  most  illustrious  inci- 
dents in  Venetian  history.  There  they  are,  en- 
closed in  heavy,  rich  gilding,  as  when  the  wise 
men  of  a  free  and  victorious  city  looked  to  them 
for  inspiration.  Above  are  hung  the  portraits  of 


100  ITALIAN  SKETCH   BOOK. 

the  long  line  of  Doges,  exhibiting  scarcely  a  face 
which  does  not  bear  marks  of  strong  mind  and 
venerable  experience.  Here,  too,  is  the  gloomy 
interruption  to  the  singular  corps — the  black  veil 
and  its  sad  inscription — hie  est  locus  Marini 
Falieri  decapitati  per  crimine.  1  tarried  succes- 
sively in  the  chamber  where  were  wont  to  con- 
vene the  Senate,  the  Councils  of  the  Ten  and  the 
Forty,  and  the  reception-room  for  ambassadors, 
even  the  seats  of  which  remained  unviolated  but 
by  decay.  In  the  second,  while  studying  the 
paintings,  a  bat  fluttered  to  and  fro  among  the 
cornices — a  fit  living  concomitant  of  such  a  scene. 
Here,  too,  the  line  of  portraiture  is  again  broken, 
not  by  any  insignia  of  crime,  but  by  that  of 
abrupt  cessation,  the  places  prepared  for  succeed- 
ing Doges  presenting  but  a  void. 

An  hour's  gondola  sailing  brought  me  to  St. 
Lazarus,  a  pretty  island  about  two  miles  from 
Venice;  and  my  application  to  view  the  very 
interesting  convent  there  situated,  was  very  po- 
litely received  by  one  of  the  venerable  and  worthy 
brotherhood,  Padre  Pascal,  who,  in  his  dark 
robes  and  long  gray  beard,  looked  like,  what 
indeed  he  may  justly  be  called,  a  moral  apostle  of 
learning.  Under  his  kind  and  intelligent  conduct 
I  viewed  this  delightful  institution;  the  lovely 
and  tranquil  situation  of  which,  the  neatness  and 
order  displayed  in  its  interior  arrangements,  and 
the  works  of  useful  and  happy  influence  going 
unassumingly  on  within  its  consecrated  walls, 


VENICE.  101 

attracted  my  earnest  sympathy  and  respect.  In 
the  beautiful  library  I  found  books  in  all  lan- 
guages, and  a  fine  bust  of  the  founder  of  the 
institution,  by  Canova.  At  the  table  upon  which 
this  stood,  my  conductor  had  given  lessons  in 
Armenian  to  Lord  Byron,  who  frequented  the 
convent  for  that  purpose,  and  assisted  his  teacher 
in  preparing  a  grammar  of  the  language.  In  a 
smaller  library  I  was  shown  many  interesting 
works  printed  in  the  convent ;  among  others,  a 
prayer  book  in  twenty-four  languages,  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost,  and  Rollin's  Ancient  History, 
translated  into  Armenian  by  the  learned  padre. 
Having  looked  at  the  press  below,  and  enjoyed 
the  fine  view  from  various  parts  of  the  building. 
I  took  my  leave,  eminently  gratified  with  this 
visit  to  one  of  the  seemingly  truly  admirable 
institutions  extant.  Its  objects  are  primarily  the 
instruction  of  Armenian  youth,  the  general  dis- 
semination of  knowledge,  and  the  cultivation  of 
literature  in  connection  with  theology.  Its  mem- 
bers, strictly  speaking,  are  Armenians,  but  educa- 
tion is  afforded  to  others,  through  visits  to  the 
island.  Brethren  are  continually  sent  forth;  my 
good  friend  himself  had  been  a  considerable  trav- 
eller, and  I  could  readily  believe  his  assertion, 
that  in  all  his  wanderings,  he  had  found  no  spot 
like  this. 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  when  I  em- 
barked for  a  final  excursion,  and,  having  reached 
the  lido,  passed  a  pleasant  hour  in  promenading 
9* 


102  ITALIAN  SKETCH   BOOK. 

the  Adriatic  shore,  with  that  beautiful  expanse  of 
water  stretching  beyond  the  limits  of  vision,  and 
soothingly  laving  the  sands  at  my  feet.  Upon 
returning,  the  sun  was  below  the  horizon,  and  the 
deep,  pompous  outline  of  the  Tyrol  rose  com- 
mandingly  in  the  distance;  a  rich  glow  suffused 
the  face  of  the  western  sky,  and  the  evening  star 
gleamed  peacefully.  The  still  waters  of  the  gulf 
reflected  with  beautiful  distinctness  the  spires  and 
adjoining  buildings,  and  the  few  vessels  in  the 
port  lay  perfectly  tranquil  upon  its  bosom.  At 
that  hour,  when  the  associations  of  Venice  are  so 
earnestly  excited  by  its  own  quiet  beauty,  my  old 
gondolier  grew  communicative.  To-morrow,  he 
said,  was  the  anniversary  of  one  of  the  most 
splendid  festas  of  the  republic.  On  that  day,  fifty 
years  ago,  the  Doge,  senators,  nobility  and  distin- 
guished strangers  embarked  in  the  golden  barge, 
and  when  arrived  at  the  lido,  the  former  dropped 
a  ring  into  the  sea,  and  then  the  whole  company 
repaired  to  a  neighboring  church  to  celebrate  a 
solemn  function,  after  which  a  grand  fete  was 
partaken  of  at  the  palace,  and  innumerable  com- 
fits distributed  upon  the  piazza;  thus,  yearly, 
were  observed  the  nuptials  of  the  Adriatic.  He 
had  been  in  the  service  of  Byron  three  years  and 
a  half,  and  during  that  time,  had  daily,  after 
dinner,  transported  the  poet  to  the  shore,  where 
he  rode  along  the  sands  for  some  hours ;  and 
often  had  he  followed  him  with  the  gondola  as  he 
swam  or  floated  for  miles  upon  the  calm  surface 


VENICE. 


103 


of  the  bay.  The  little  white  house  to  which  the 
curious  repaired  to  see  him  mount  his  horse,  and 
the  convent  which  he  daily  frequented,  were 
pointed  out;  and  as  an  instance  of  his  lordship's 
generosity,  the  bargeman  bid  us  remember  that 
when  the  printer  whom  he  employed  in  Venice 
lost  his  establishment  by  fire,  he  privately  sent 
him  a  hundred  louis  d'ors.  As  an  evidence  of 
the  fallen  fortunes  even  of  the  gondoliers,  he 
declared  that  immediately  prior  to  the  downfall 
of  the  republic,  he  received  forty  francs  per  day 
from  two  Signori  Inglesi,  for  fifteen  days,  beside 
a  buonamano  of  a  suit  of  clothes;  while  an 
eighth  of  that  sum  is  the  present  stipend.  I 
induced  the  old  man  to  sing  a  stanza  of  Tasso, 
as  I  thus  approached  the  city.  The  evening  gun 
resounded,  a  band  of  music  struck  up,  and  silently 
contemplating  the  realization  of  my  dreams  of 
Venice,  I  touched  the  steps  of  the  quay,  and 
emerged  from  that  silent  solemnity  upon  the  illu- 
minated and  gaily  occupied  Piazza  of  St.  Marco 
— to  feel  with  him  of  whom  I  was  just  convers- 
ing, that 

"  Beauty  still  is  here  ; 

States  fall,  arts  fade,  but  nature  doth  not  die, 
Nor  yet  forget  how  Venice  once  was  dear." 


ITALIAN   JOURNEYING. 


"  If  in  your  memories  dwell 

A  thought  which  once  was  his ;  if  on  ye  swell 

A  single  recollection,  not  in  vain 

He  wore  the  sandal  shoon  and  scallop  shell." 


ALTHOUGH  called  by  the  vetturino,  on  a  January 
morning,  at  about  half  past  two,  I  had  cause,  as 
usual,  to  regret  my  ready  attention  to  his  sum- 
mons, for  it  was  nearly  six  when  I  was  actually 
moving  on  in  the  cabriolet  of  the  carriage  by  the 
side  of  my  compagnon  de  voyage.  The  thin 
scattered  clouds  which  dimmed  the  sky  of  early 
day  gathered  more  darkly  as  we  proceeded,  so 
that  all  means  of  avoiding  direct  contact  with  the 
rain  were  soon  put  in  requisition.  It  was  no 
small  disappointment  to  me,  when  arrived  at  our 
first  stopping-place,  Albano,  to  find  myself  shiv- 
ering at  the  scanty  fire  of  the  inn-kitchen,  instead 
of  roaming  over  the  hill  and  about  the  lake 
which  give  so  much  celebrity  to  this  village. 
One  of  the  passengers,  more  hale,  though  I  ween 


106  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

not  more  zealous  than  myself,  made  a  hurried 
visit  to  the  spot,  and  returned  quite  wet,  to  com- 
plain of  the  littleness  of  the  sheet  of  water  digni- 
fied with  the  title  of  lake.  When  we  again  set 
out,  the  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents,  and  the 
utter  gloominess  of  the  scenery,  and  compara- 
tively comfortless  state  of  our  feelings,  made  the 
slow  riding  of  the  few  remaining  hours  of  light 
uninteresting,  to  say  the  least.  How  the  misera- 
ble dinner,  cold  quarters,  and  dreary  aspect  of 
our  night's  shelter  were  gone  through  with,  every 
old  traveller  can  imagine.  Each  bore  the  several 
privations  according  to  his  humor,  though  the 
chief  consolation  seemed  to  be  derived  from  the 
idea  of  home-comfort  which  the  contrast  sug- 
gested. 

A  seemingly  long,  and  equally  dark  ride 
brought  us  the  ensuing  morning  to  the  borders  of 
the  Pontine  Marshes,  renowned  for  the  antiqua- 
ted attempt  to  drain  them,  and  some  circumstan- 
ces of  ancient  history  in  connection  with  which 
they  are  mentioned.  The  quality  which  has 
rendered  them  somewhat  formidable  in  modern 
times — their  pestiferous  exhalations — was  imper- 
ceptible, either  from  our  confined  situation,  or  the 
peculiar  state  of  the  atmosphere.  We  ran  with 
great  rapidity  over  the  fine  road  which  crosses 
them,  extending  twenty-four  miles,  and  reached 
the  Terracina  Hotel,  just  as  a  little  interval  of 
temporary  sunshine  occurred.  From  a  back 
window  of  this  castle-like  building,  I  could  gaze 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYING.  107 

out  upon  the  wide  waters  of  the  Mediterranean, 
as  they  came  rolling  splendidly  onward  in  high 
waves,  which  were  spurned  backward  by  the 
jutting  rocks,  or  lost  themselves  moaningly  upon 
the  sands.  This  most  sublime  object  in  nature  I 
viewed  with  something  of  the  delight  with  which 
we  unexpectedly  encounter  an  old  friend,  as  well 
as  with  much  of  the  imaginative  satisfaction  it 
must  ever  inspire. 

The  bright  waters  of  a  sea  like  this  !  They 
brought  to  mind  the  fearful  acts  they  had  con- 
summated, the  awful  wrecks  made  by  their 
treacherous  workings,  the  scenes  enacted  on  their 
shores,  the  men  by  whose  writings  they  have 
been  hallowed.  But  they  suggested  yet  more 
tender  and  awakening  associations.  It  was  by 
such  a  medium  that  1  passed  with  a  dream-like 
rapidity  from  the  new  to  the  old  world ;  from  in- 
fluences more  deeply  operative  than  art's  most 
perfect  witchery ;  from  my  home  to  a  strange 
land.  Were  these  waters  as  living  messengers, 
could  one  breath  of  my  most  native  sentiment, 
one  gush  of  my  heart's  best  feelings  enter  and 
roll  on  within  a  wave,  seemingly  pure  enough  to 
embody  something  spiritual,  until  it  was  poured 
upon  my  native  shore — how  eloquent  would  it  be 
of  gratitude  and  greeting  ! 

We  soon  crossed  the  pass  formed  by  the  sea  on 
the  one  side,  and  high  hills  on  the  other,  where 
Maximius  posted  his  troops  to  resist  the  onward 
march  of  Hannibal.  This  pass,  like  all  of  na- 


108  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

ture's  strong  holds,  is  apparently  invulnerable 
when  in  any  wise  fortified ;  and  in  the  season  of 
flowers  and  verdure,  must  present  a  very  beauti- 
ful appearance.  We  next  reached  Fondi,  in 
which  beggarly  village  we  were  long  detained  for 
the  examination  of  our  baggage.  I  regretted  that 
night  prevented  my  having  a  glimpse  of  the 
building,  supposed  to  have  been  the  tomb  of 
Cicero,  erected  on  the  spot  where  he  met  so  un- 
deserved a  fate.  Our  night  at  Mola  was  some- 
what better  than  the  previous  one,  and  yet  suffi- 
ciently dull.  The  moaning  of  the  sea  beneath 
the  windows,  and  the  splashing  of  the  rain,  made 
most  unpromising  music,  while  the  cold  stone 
floors  and  scanty  accommodations  did  not  much 
counteract  its  influence.  The  most  cheering  ob- 
ject which  met  our  eyes  the  next  morning,  after 
several  miles',  ride,  was  the  sun,  who  succeeded 
this  time  in  pushing  his  fiery  course  through  the 
cloudy  crowd  which  surrounded,  as  a  troop  of 
pressing  retainers,  his  imperial  out-going.  Some 
very  antique-looking  aqueducts,  and  an  admira- 
ble new  bridge  which  crosses  the  Garigliano, 
(anciently  the  Liris,)  next  occupied  our  notice. 
The  noon  rest  was  at  the  miserable  village  of 
modern  Capua,  the  inn  and  aspect  of  which,  we 
concluded,  were  the  worst  we  had  yet  seen. 
The  remainder  of  our  ride  lay  over  a  very  dirty 
though  level  road.  It  was  surprising  to  observe 
that  a  highway  so  near  a  great  city  was  no  more 
travelled  or  better  kept  than  this  appeared  to  be. 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYING.  JQ9 

Night  fell  sometime  before  we  reached  Naples, 
and  we  observed  a  fire,  apparently  burning  in  a 
narrow  and  long  streak  upon  a  hill  side,  which, 
seen  thus,  through  a  misty  atmosphere  and  a  long 
vista  of  trees,  was  quite  remarkable.  It  was  the 
distant  looming  of  Aresuvius  ! 

It  was  long  before  day-break,  and  during 
damp  and  cloudy  weather,  that  we  entered  the 
old  coach  which  was  to  convey  us  to  Rome.  A 
young  Dominican  monk,  with  his  white  habili- 
ments, within,  and  two  German  youths,  without, 
completed  the  party;  and  we  moved  tardily 
along,  after  our  passports  had  been  inspected  at 
the  gate.  The  air  and  aspect,  during  the  long 
day,  continued  to  wear  a  November  cast;  and  a 
lonely  and  cold  ride  at  night,  contributed  to  ren- 
der our  journey,  at  its  outset,  one  of  those  dismal 
experiences,  so  often  described  in  the  traveller's 
tale.  The  following  day  proved  much  clearer 
and  colder ;  and  toward  its  close,  our  interest  be- 
came excited  by  coming  in  view  of  the  ground 
where  Hannibal  obtained  his  signal  victory  over 
Flaminius.  The  very  tower  to  which  the  con- 
queror's horse  was  tied,  is  still  pointed  out.  The 
site  of  this  battle-ground,  at  the  end  of  the  lake 
of  Trasimenus,  seemed,  beneath  the  dim  light  of 
a  gloomy  sky,  quite  extensive  enough,  and  suffi- 
ciently environed  with  elevations,  to  afford  ample 
scope  for  the  manoeuvring  and  action  of  ancient 
warfare ;  and  its  present  solitary  aspect  must 
10 


HO  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

present  a  wonderful  contrast  to  the  energy  and 
effects  once  developed  there.  Beside  that  lake, 
in  a  grim  old  inn,  we  rested  till  dawn,  and  found 
the  first  stage  of  our  early  ride  exceedingly  un- 
comfortable, from  the  cold. 

It  was  about  noon  when  we  reached  Perugia, 
and  after  a  slight  repast,  commenced  peregrina- 
ting the  old  town.  I  was  amused  to  observe  that 
the  inhabitants,  even  the  meanest  clad,  wore 
their  cloaks  somewhat  after  the  Roman  fashion, 
having  the  right  skirt  thrown  over  the  left 
shoulder.  In  the  church  of  St.  Dominic,  we 
found  the  large  window  of  stained  glass,  behind 
the  altar,  quite  splendid,  and  from  its  striking 
position  and  size,  by  far  the  most  beautiful  orna- 
ment in  the  building.  Hastening  to  the  church 
of  St.  Peter,  we  were  impressed  with  its  admira- 
ble locality,  being  placed  upon  an  elevation  with- 
out the  immediate  circle  of  houses,  commanding 
from  behind  a  very  extensive  prospect,  and  hav- 
ing in  front  an  ample  esplanade.  The  pictures  it 
contains  are  very  interesting,  not  so  much  from 
actual  power,  as  on  account  of  their  authors. 
There  are  several  of  Perugini,  the  master  of 
Raphael,  his  own  master,  and  a  few  of  Raphael's, 
which  are  obviously  first  efforts.  These  evince 
that  gradual  but  distinct  improvement  in  style 
and  execution,  by  which  every  art  and  effort  of 
humanity  is  carried  toward  perfection.  Scarcely 
a  square  foot  of  wall  is  there  in  this  church 
which  is  not  adorned  with  frescos;  and  the 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYING.  m 

whole  building,  with  its  contents,  is  a  pleasing 
little  antiquity. 

On  our  way  from  this  town  we  left  the  coach 
to  inspect  another  church  by  the  road-side, 
which  was  undergoing  repairs,  called  the  Ma- 
donna degli  Angeli.  Here,  scattered  upon  the 
cold  pavement,  were  some  Franciscans,  in  their 
coarse  habits  of  brown  stuff,  looking  more  mis- 
erable in  their  ignorant  dejection  than  any  of  the 
Catholic  priesthood  we  had  fallen  in  with.  Even- 
ing found  us  at  Foligno,  where  we  saw  little  to 
interest  us,  except  the  feats  of  some  children  who 
were  leaping  in  a  shed,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  a  vulgar  audience,  and  a  view  of  the  innumer- 
able props  by  which  many  of  the  older  houses, 
shattered  by  a  recent  earthquake,  seemed  to  be 
mainly  sustained. 

The  next  morning  we  paused  upon  the  post- 
road,  soon  after  recommencing  our  journey,  to 
observe  the  temple  of  Clitumnus,  now  a  chapel, 
rendered  worthy  of  notice  from  its  antiquity.  At 
Spoleto,  our  noon  resting  place,  we  were  not — 
strange  to  tell — charged  for  attention  to  our  pass- 
ports. This  was  the  first  town  which  appeared 
to  me  possessed  of  the  genuine  characteristics 
of  ancient  interest.  A  time-worn  and  quiet  as- 
pect was  here  immediately  observable.  Passing 
through  Hannibal's  gate,  so  called  from  an  in- 
scription thereon,  setting  forth  the  successful  de- 
fence made  by  the  ancient  inhabitants  against 
his  attacks,  we  came  in  view  of  a  grand  aque- 


112  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

duct,  supported  by  long  and  remarkably  narrow 
arches,  and  quite  massive  in  execution.  The 
scenery  immediately  contiguous  is  the  finest  of  its 
class  in  the  route ;  the  grand  slope  of  the  hill, 
and  the  vivid  verdure  of  the  ever-green  pine  being 
very  refreshing  to  the  eye.  Indeed,  the  appear- 
ance of  the  country  grew  far  more  picturesque 
about  this  period,  the  range  of  the  Apennines 
becoming  more  lofty  and  variegated. 

At  Terni,  which  we  reached  in  the  afternoon, 
we  found  a  guide,  and  made  exertions  to  reach 
the  celebrated  cascade  in  the  vicinity,  before  sun- 
set. The  hilly  path  was  ascended  by  means  of 
donkeys,  which  we  procured  at  its  base.  Em- 
bosomed in  high  and  verdant  hills,  over  the  brow 
of  one  of  which  it  descends,  is  the  fall.  It  pours 
nobly  down,  being  of  a  milky  whiteness,  and 
moving  with  a  grace  and  music  such  as  alone  is 
evinced  by  these  beautiful  phenomena  in  nature. 
There,  its  white  form  of  beauty  amid  a  spacious 
and  green  amphitheatre,  and  crowned  with  sil- 
very mist,  falls  ever  the  glorious  cascade.  As  a 
vision  too  sweet  long  to  linger,  it  has  passed  from 
before  me;  but  its  memory  is  indelible,  more 
pleasing  to  recall  than  even  the  monuments  of 
ancient  art  or  the  peculiarities  of  olden  time. 

Our  stop  the  succeeding  day  was  at  the  mean 
village  called  Otriculum,  without  whose  southern 
wall  we  tarried  some  time,  looking  upon  the  ad- 
jacent country,  and  especially  upon  a  narrow 
and  greenish,  but  beautifully  meandering  stream, 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYING.  JJ3 

trying  to  realize  that  it  was,  in  truth,  the  Tiber. 
We  found,  too,  an  old  castle,  to  beguile  the  time 
until  overtaken  by  our  carriage,  which  soon 
brought  us  to  Civita  Castelana.  On  entering  this 
town  we  dismounted,  and  lingered  to  admire  a 
very  deep  and  umbrageous  defile  .which  is  span- 
ned by  the  bridge.  We  noticed,  as  somewhat 
remarkable,  that  the  cathedral  here,  which  is 
partly  composed  of  an  ancient  temple,  has  mo- 
saic work  upon  its  outer  front.  A  fine  castle, 
which  probably  gives  the  town  its  name,  is  the 
only  other  obvious  object  of  interest. 

This  journey,  commenced  on  the  third  of  No- 
vember, and  concluded  on  the  evening  of  the 
eighth,  would  have  been  somewhat  tedious,  but 
for  social  intercourse,  and  a  few  attendant  sub- 
jects of  reflection.  The  almost  total  want  of 
comfort  at  the  miserable  inns,  is  indeed  no  small 
drawback  ;  but  my  chief  disappointment  resulted 
from  the  want  of  beauty  and  interest  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  nature.  The  only  fine  tree  which 
met  our  view  was  the  small  olive  of  the  country. 
Far  more  glorious  are  the  variegated  hues  of 
autumn  in  America,  than  the  monotonous  color- 
ing which  here  blends  so  much  of  the  vegetative 
aspect.  Throughout  the  ride,  it  frequently  re- 
quired effort  to  realize  where  we  were  ;  and  only 
when  within  an  old  church,  or  in  sight  of  an 
antiquated  town,  or  once  or  twice  at  early  morn- 
ing, between  two  remarkably  fine  Apennine  hills, 
10* 


|14  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

did  we  feel  what  one  would  deem  the  legitimate 
influences  of  Italy. 

Silently,  and  almost  sadly,  did  I  travel  onward 
from  the  Tuscan  dominions  towards  new  scenes. 
We  soon  came  upon  the  Apennine  range,  and 
thenceforward*  were  continually  ascending  and 
descending.  A  dull  warm  atmosphere  constant- 
ly prevailed,  with  occasional  rain.  The  aspect 
of  nature  was  consonant  with  my  feelings.  The 
vapor  wreathed  itself  around  the  summits,  and 
floated  far  down  among  the  long  denies  which 
were  ever  before  us.  In  the  evening  we  reached 
Bologna.  Its  arched  sidewalks  give  to  the 
streets  a  very  gloomy  appearance ;  and  this  im- 
pression was  enhanced  by  the  number  of  sol- 
diery— the  minions  of  Austria — everywhere  visi- 
ble. We  visited  the  churches  and  public  prom- 
enade, and  attentively  regarded  the  statue  of  Nep- 
tune, by  Giovanni  di  Bologna,  in  the  principal 
piazza,  and  the  leaning  tower.  We  also  made 
an  excursion  of  three  miles  into  the  environs,  and 
viewed  the  immense  line  of  arches,  extending 
thence  to  the  city.  The  Campo  Santo  occupied 
us  some  time;  and  although  some  of  the  monu- 
mental decorations  are  interesting,  and  the  great 
scale  of  the  establishment  striking,  yet  there  is 
little  to  create  that  impression  which  is  perhaps 
the  only  really  excellent  result  of  such  institutions. 

At  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  I  found  a  higher 
satisfaction,  and  dwelt  long  upon  the  Madonna, 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYING.  ^5 

Elizabeth,  and  the  Infant  Jesus,  in  the  act  of 
blessing  Saint  John,  the  Madonna  della  Pieta, 
and  the  Slaughter  of  the  Innocents,  by  Guido 
Reni.  St.  Cecilia  listening  to  a  Choir  of  Angels, 
and  surrounded  by  St.  Paul,  St.  John,  St.  Augus- 
tine, and  the  Magdalene,  particularly  interested 
me,  as  being  one  of  Raphael's,  and  in  his  last 
style.  An  expression  of  fervid  enjoyment  is 
singularly  obvious  in  the  beaming  countenance 
of  St.  Cecilia.  Many  pictures  also,  by  Francia, 
drew  my  attention,  he  being  the  contemporary  of 
Raphael,  and  remarkably  developing  his  style. 
There  is,  too,  a  fine  work  of  art  by  Domeni- 
chino — the  Martyrdom  of  St.  Agnes.  Upon  de- 
parting for  Ferrara,  we  were  almost  at  once  upon 
the  plains  of  Lombardy,  and  our  remaining  jour- 
ney formed  a  striking  contrast  with  its  preceding 
portions.  The  poplar,  peculiar  to  the  country, 
bordered  the  road,  but  in  form  it  is  not  compara- 
ble with  what  I  had  seen  at  home  :  the  mulberry, 
too,  prevailed,  and,  as  we  learned,  was  cultivated 
wholly  on  account  of  the  silk  manufacture  to 
which  it  ministers; — an  extensive  affair  here. 
The  solitude  was  striking,  nor  was  it  diminished 
essentially  when,  shortly  before  sunset,  we 
reached  Ferrara,  the  principal  thoroughfare  of 
which  city  alone  seemed  well  inhabited ;  many 
broad  streets  presenting  a  perfectly  destitute 
appearance.  I  found  Byron  had  not  taken  a 
poetica 
grown. 


HQ  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

The  comparatively  ordinary  monument  to  Ari- 
osto,  in  the  promenade,  was  the  only  object  of 
interest  which  we  had  time  to  seek.  The  suc- 
ceeding day  we  crossed  the  Po,  an  apparently 
sluggish  stream,  environed  by  an  exceedingly  flat 
country.  After  a  weary  examination  of  our  lug- 
gage, at  this  commencement  of  the  Austrian 
dominions,  we  continued  our  route  through  such 
a  quiet  and  dead  plain,  that  the  sight  of  Monte 
Silece,  and  its  three  adjacent  elevations,  was 
quite  refreshing  to  the  eye.  At  a  village  at  the 
foot  of  this  mountain  we  passed  the  night,  and 
every  previous  hour  of  light  was  delightfully 
spent  in  viewing  the  seemingly  interminable 
plains  from  various  points  of  the  hill. 

As  I  stood  upon  the  old  terrace  in  front  of  a 
rough  grotto,  (containing  full  length  figures  of  St. 
Frances,  the  Madonna  and  Saviour,)  looking 
forth  upon  the  almost  boundless  prospect,  and  then 
wandered  among  the  ruins  of  a  castle,  upon  the 
hill's  summit,  observed  the  old  towering  broken 
palace,  with  no  living  object  about  it  but  the  figure 
of  a  withered  crone,  knitting  at  the  door,  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  a  spot  so  in  unison  with  the 
legends  of  the  middle  ages,  which  romance  has 
hallowed  and  adorned.  As  we  returned,  the  nu- 
merous cypresses  attracted  our  attention.  We 
entered  a  little  church,  where  was  a  knot  of  vil- 
lage girls,  with  their  white  mantillas  and  black 
eyes,  engaged  in  their  devotions.  Upon  emerging, 
we  noted  a  youth,  whose  dress  and  manners 


ITALIAN  JOURNEYING.  JJ7 

seemed  too  studied  for  accident,  in  such  a  spot ; 
we  were  not  long  in  surmising  his  intentions,  for 
among  the  maidens,  came  forth  one  singularly 
beautiful;  her  head  was  tastefully  adorned  with 
flowers,  and  her  air  somewhat  sprightly  and  con- 
fident. I  doubted  not  she  was  the  beauty  of  the 
village;  and  as  the  young  man  smilingly  glided 
along  by  her  side,  and  at  the  turn  leading  to  the 
town,  darted  into  a  narrow  by-path,  I  read  a  tale 
of  love,  of  love  in  its  spring-time,  and  sighed  as 
I  thought  what  might  be  its  harvest.  The  next 
morning  we  arrived  in  Padua,  and  the  busy  and 
cheerful  aspect  of  the  place,  it  being  fair  day,  at 
once  interested  and  pleased  me.  Two  or  three 
hours  were  satisfactorily  passed  in  viewing  the 
churches  : — that  of  St.  Antonio  (the  patron  saint 
of  Padua)  is  a  grand  structure,  and  the  Scuola 
adjacent  interesting.  I  admired  the  free,  clean 
aspect,  and  sculpture  ornaments  of  St.  Justin,  but 
lingered  longest  in  the  court  and  corridors  of  the 
old  university,  where  were  assembled  a  finer  col- 
lection of  young  men  than  1  had  before  seen  in 
Italy,  awaiting  the  lecture  hour.  I  entered  one 
of  the  high,  dark  chambers,  where  a  professor,  in 
his  black  and  ermine  bound  robe,  was  questioning 
a  large  number  of  students  on  the  subject  of  his 
prior  discourse  on  jurisprudence.  There  was 
something  which  brought  home  forcibly  to  my 
mind,  in  the  liberal,  studious,  Christian  aspect  of 
this  institution,  and  indeed  of  the  whole  city. 


113  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

After  dining  at  the  Acquila  d'Ora,  three  hours' 
riding  brought  us  to  the  shore,  whence  we  em- 
barked in  a  gondola.  The  ocean  queen  lay  before 
us,  stretching  her  line  of  building  tranquilly  upon 
the  still  waters.  In  an  hour  we  were  in  the  main 
canal.  I  looked  up  to  the  antiquated  and  decayed 
buildings,  the  time-worn,  yet  rich  architecture  of 
the  palaces ;  I  felt  the  deep  silence,  the  eloquent 
decay,  and  long  before  the  gondola  touched  the 
steps  of  the  hotel,  1  realized  that  I  was  in  Venice, 


THE    LAST    SOJOURN. 


'  And  now  farewell  to  Italy — perhaps 
Forever  !     Yet.  methinks,  I  could  not  go, 
I  could  not  leave  it,  were  it  mine  to  say 
Farewell  forever ! " 


MILANO  !  why  is  thy  very  name  suggestive  of  so 
many  and  such  affecting  associations?  The 
luxuriance  and  fertility  amid  which  Napoli  is 
reared,  the  mellow  air  of  antiquity  that  broods 
over  the  Eternal  city,  Firenze's  picturesque 
beauty,  Venezia's  unique  aspect — these  attrac- 
tions are  not  thine.  Assuredly  in  thy  sister  cities 
there  is  more  to  interest,  more  to  admire,  more  to 
delight  a  retrospective  ideality.  True,  at  the 
coming  on  of  evening,  one  may  gaze  unweariedly 
upon  the  equipages  of  thy  nobility  and  the  beauty 
of  thy  daughters,  as  they  pass  in  dazzling  succes- 
sion along  the  Corso,  and  wonder  not  that  thy 
modem  conqueror  called  thee  his  second  Paris. 
True,  thy  splendid  marmoreal  cathedral,  with  its 
clustering  spires,  its  countless  statuary  adorn- 


120  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

ments,  its  magnificent  proportions  and  gothic 
solemnity — true,  thy  cathedral  is  a  tabernacle 
wherein  to  linger,  rejoice  and/ee/;  and  the  richly- 
wrought  chapel  beneath,  with  the  corse  of  Carlo 
Borromeo,  in  its  crystal  coffin,  is  a  marvellously 
gorgeous  sepulchre,  and  the  broad  white  roof 
above,  whence  the  eye  glances  over  the  blue 
range  of  distant  mountains  and  verdant  plains 
of  Lombardy,  is  no  ordinary  observatory.  And 
then,  again,  one  who  loves  to  loge  himself  in 
mystic  musings,  may  stand  in  the  bare  and  de- 
serted refectory  of  Santa  Maria  della  Grazia, 
and  ponder  the  mouldering  remnant  of  Leon- 
ardo's genius, — tracing  the  fretted  outlines  of  the 
forms  and  faces  revered,  that  are  clustered  around 
the  "  Last  Supper;"  and  if  it  rejoice  one  to 
behold  thre  very  poetry  of  physical  life  radiated 
from  inanimate  matter,  he  may  note  the  sinewy 
forms,  nervous  limbs,  distended  nostrils,  and 
arching  necks  of  the  bronze  steeds  at  the  Simplon 
Gate ;  ay,  and  one  may  beguile  an  hour  at  the 
Gallery  of  Art,  were  it  only  in  perusing  the  coun- 
tenance of  Hagar,  as  she  turns  away  from  her 
home  at  the  bidding  of  Abraham,  as  depicted  by 
the  pencil  of  Guercino ;  or  study  the  relics  pre- 
served in  the  Ambrosian  Library;  or  sit,  on  a 
festa  day,  beneath  the  spreading  chesnuts  of  the 
public  gardens,  surrounded  by  fair  forms  and  gay 
costumes,  while  the  air  is  rife  with  the  inspiring 
instrumental  harmony  of  the  Austrian  band. 
But  is  it  the  memory  of  such  ministrations  alone 


THE  LAST  SOJOURN.  \%\ 

that  makes  the  thought  of  thee,  Milano,  what  it 
is  to  me?  No:  I  revert  with  fondness  to  thy 
level  precincts  and  mountain-bound  environs, 
because  there  the  air  of  Italia  was  last  inhaled — 
there  her  melody  died  away  upon  my  ear — there 
was  my  last  sojourn  in  Italy. 

The  lapse  of  a  few  hours  in  Milan  sufficed  to 
indicate  that  something  unusual  was  occupying 
and  interesting  the  public  mind.  The  cafes 
echoed  the  tones  of  earnest  discussion ;  shrugs, 
nods,  and  expressive  gesticulations  were  lavished 
with  even  more  than  Italian  prodigality ;  dark 
eyes  beamed  with  expectancy ;  the  favored  vota- 
ries of  amusement  had  something  like  a  business 
air  about  them ;  the  tradesmen  loitered  longer  in 
by-way  converse ;  the  journals  teemed  with  elo- 
quent and  controversial  articles;  pamphlets  were 
distributed,  and  placards  posted.  You  might 
have  deemed  that  the  period  so  vividly  described 
by  Manzoni,  when  the  Milanese  were  agitated  by 
the  factions  which  contended  so  long  and  warmly 
years  gone  by,  about  the  price  of  bread,  had 
returned,  but  that  the  prevailing  language  of  the 
present  popular  feeling  was  that  of  pleasure — of 
enthusiasm,  rather  than  passion — of  common  an- 
ticipation, rather  than  discordant  interests.  An 
American  might  have  augured,  from  the  signs  of 
the  time,  that  a  strongly  contested  election  was 
proceeding ;  and  a  Parisian  would  probably  have 
discerned  the  incipient  elements  of  a  revolution  j 
but  the  cause  of  the  excitement  was  such  as 
11 


122  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

could  produce  similar  visible  effects  no  where  but 
in  Italy ;  and  no  one  but  an  Italian,  or  a  familiar 
denizen  of  the  land,  could  perfectly  appreciate  the 
phenomena.  The  title-page  of  one  of  the  newly 
issued  publications  reveals  the  ostensible  circum- 
stance which  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  social  agita- 
tion;  "La  Malibran  a  Milano" — yes,  the  re- 
nowned Malibran  had  been  unexpectedly  engaged 
to  give  three  representations  of  an  opera,  in  which 
Pasta — the  beloved  of  the  Milanese,  had  been 
performing  with  what  they  deemed  inimitable 
excellence.  Long  before  the  period  designated, 
the  boxes  of  the  Scala  were  secured ;  and  many 
an  ardent  sojourner,  and  unprovided  native,  anx- 
iously awaited  the  period  when  the  other  parts  of 
the  house  would  be  thrown  open  for  general  and 
indiscriminate  appropriation. 

When  at  length  the  eventful  evening  arrived, 
the  descending  chandelier  revealed  an  impatient 
multitude  that,  five  hours  previous,  had  taken 
possession  of  the  parterre.  Maria  Louisa  was  a 
prominent  occupant  of  the  court  box ;  and  Pasta, 
in  the  intense  interest  of  the  occasion,  leaned 
over,  and  followed  with  a  keen  gaze  the  form  of; 
her  rival,  till  it  disappeared  behind  the  scenes. 
Throughout  the  brilliant  assemblage,  convened  in 
that  splendid  edifice,  there  was  alternately  pro- 
found silence  or  resounding  acclamations;  and 
five  times,  at  the  close,  did  the  bravissima  donina 
obey  the  call,  and  come  forth  to  receive  their  rap- 
turous plaudits.  It  was  with  a  melancholy  erno- 


; 


THE  LAST  SOJOURN.  123 

tion,  almost  oppressive,  that  I  remembered,  on 
leaving  the  house,  at  the  close  of  the  last  evening, 
that  for  me  this  beautiful  magic  was  to  cease.  I 
felt  that  harmony,  such  as  never  before  blessed 
my  ears,  was  to  enliven  me  no  more ;  that,  like  a 
summer  breeze,  it  had  borne  its  cool  refreshment,  it 
had  wafted  its  odorous  perfume,  it  had  awakened 
its  note  upon  the  harp  of  the  spirit,  and  had 
flown  on  to  cheer  some  other  and  more  distant 
sojourn  er. 

Awhile  before  the  diligence  started,  I  once 
more  entered  the  cathedral.  The  noon-day  sun 
was  streaming  through  the  stained  glass  of  the 
windows,  and  a  few  priests  were  chanting  at  the 
altar.  Seating  myself  beneath  one  of  the  lofty 
arches,  and  viewing  again  the  gothic  grandeur 
and  rich  tressil-work  around  me,  I  yielded  to  the 
overwhelming  reveries  of  the  hour.  I  could  not 
but  feel  that  a  few  days  of  rapid  movement 
would  take  me,  perhaps  forever,  from  a  land 
which  had  calmly  but  deeply  ministered  to  my 
happiness,  and  gradually  but  surely  gained  upon 
my  love.  There  was  an  earnest  reluctance,  a 
rebellion  of  the  strong  desires,  a  painful  intermis- 
sion in  the  cherished  train  of  emotion,  at  this 
renouncement  of  objects  endeared  by  taste  and 
habit.  But  especially  did  my  thoughts  cling 
sadly  and  tenaciously  around  what  previous 
ideas  and  native  sentiment  had  prepared  me  most 
readily  and  fervently  to  love — humanity.  I  felt 
that  if  the  social  activity  and  predominance  of 


124  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

mental  endeavor  which  characterize  my  own 
country  were  wanting  here,  yet  that  I  had  known 
and  experienced  much  of  the  true  spirit  of  fra- 
ternity, much  of  intellectual  enthusiasm  and  gen- 
erous sentiment.  I  thought  of  the  many  hours  of 
quiet  and  innocent  enjoyment,  the  instances  of 
social  kindness,  the  offices  of  sympathy,  and  the 
spirit-stirring  song,  which  had  each  and  all 
opened  fountains  of  living  joy  in  a  young  but 
anxious  breast.  I  realized  in  this  hour  of  parting, 
how  near  and  dear  the  scenes  and  gratifications 
of  Italy  were  to  my  heart.  The  moral  weak- 
nesses and  errors  of  the  land  were  not,  indeed, 
absent  from  my  mind ;  but,  with  the  thought  of 
them,  came  also  that  of  their  causes,  their  pallia- 
tions, and  hopes  for  their  subjugation  under 
auspices  fitted  to  cherish  and  develope  the  talent 
and  feeling  worthy  of  human  nature. 

At  about  mid-day  we  departed,  and  were 
rapidly  carried  along  the  rich  plains,  looking 
greener  and  more  fertile  as  we  approached  their 
termination.  Towards  dusk  the  mountains  rose 
sublimely  in  the  distance,  and  the  beautiful  and 
still  surface  of  Lago  Maggiore  was  brilliantly 
revealed  in  the  light  of  a  full  moon ;  this  land- 
scape, indeed,  feasted  our  eyes  during  the  early 
part  of  the  night's  ride,  and  fled  only  when  the 
broken  slumbers  obtainable  in  a  diligence,  veiled 
or  rendered  introspective  our  visions.  On  leaving 
Domo  d'Ossola,  a  scene  was  presented  in  every 
respect  a  contrast  with  what  the  preceding  day's 


THE  LAST  SOJOURN.  125 

ride  had  displayed  ; — rugged  mountains,  snow- 
capped and  rock-bound,  now  rising  abruptly,  and 
now  gradually  declining,  here  unclothed  with 
aught  umbrageous,  there  supporting  the  clinging 
firs,  sometimes  moist  with  dripping  springs,  and 
at  others,  exhibiting  a  dry  unbroken  surface  of 
granite.  The  cold  bleak  points,  hoary  with  snow, 
were  ever  above  us,  the  murmuring  of  falling 
water  continually  audible,  and  some  new  combi- 
nation of  crude  and  aspiring  mountain,  winding 
vale,  and  chainless  rock,  ever  and  anon  attracting 
the  eye.  Attention,  too,  was  often  and  irresisti- 
bly withdrawn  from  this  chaotic  scenery  to  the 
immense  product  of  human  art,  of  which  we 
were  so  securely  availing  ourselves.  The  preci- 
pices on  either  side,  the  rough-hewn  grottos 
through  which  we  passed,  the  ever-varying  and 
yet  ever  wild  and  solitary  aspect  of  all  around, 
evidenced  that  we  were  upon  the  Simplon.  For 
some  time  after  the  moon  had  again  arisen,  the 
foaming  waters  of  the  Rhone  were  seen  glancing 
like  molten  silver  in  her  beams.  After  leaving 
Martigny,  the  Pissevache  Fall  was  in  view;  its 
misty  and  graceful  form,  even  at  that  early  hour, 
crowned  with  rainbow  hues;  and  beyond  St. 
Maurice,  another  beautiful  object  appeared — a 
long  fleecy  cloud,  resting,  spirit-like,  upon  the 
centre  brow  of  a  lofty  mountain.  Ere  long,  the 
broad  and  blue  waters  of  Leman  were  in  sight, 
and  our  course  lay  along  its  shore,  by  the  castle 
of  Chillon,  and  the  villages  of  Vivey  and  Lau- 
11* 


126  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

sanne.  From  the  succeeding  dawn  until  our 
arrival  at  Geneva,  we  were  riding  in  view  of  the 
lake,  rich  and  flower-decked  meadows,  beautiful 
villas,  and  far  away,  white  and  towering,  the 
"  awful  and  sovran  Blanc  "  met  the  eye,  to  kindle 
imaginative  visions  of  grandeur  ;  to  transport 
the  beholder  into  the  beautiful  valley  at  its  base, 
within  hearing  of  its  waterfalls,  and  full  in  view 
of  its  congregated  sublimity.  So  magic-like  did 
the  versatile  and  effective  images  collect  and  pass 
upon  the  mind's  camera,  that  it  was  not  until  the 
contrasted  and  magnificent  insignia  of  Switzer- 
land thus  completely  environed  us,  and  the  im- 
pressions thence  derived  became  continuous  and 
absorbing,  that  I  felt  that  the  staff  of  my  pil- 
grimage was  indeed  re-assumed,  and  my  sojourn 
iu  Italv  ended. 


TALES, 


THE   DISCLAIMER. 


A    TALE   OF    ROME. 


•'  Know  that  the  human  being's  thoughts  and  deeds 
Are  not  like  ocean  billows  lightly  moved  ; 
The  inner  world  his  microcosmus  is — 
The  deep  shaft  out  of  which  they  spring  eternally." 


I  KNOW  of  few  situations  more  favorable  to  the 
indulgence  of  a  habit — doubtless  of  questionable 
utility  in  these  utilitarian  days,  although  sanc- 
tioned by  the  example  of  no  less  a  personage  than 
Geoffrey  Crayon — the  habit  of  day-dreaming, 
than  that  of  a  traveller  when  cosily  ensconced 
within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  Italian  vettura.  If 
the  coach  is  old,  the  steeds  superannuated,  and 
tiie  vetturino  utterly  devoid  of  Jehu  ambition,  as  is 
ordinarily  the  case — if  the  road  abound  in  long, 
winding  declivities — if  the  passengers  be  taci- 
turn, and  the  quiet,  sunny  atmosphere  of  early 
autumn  prevail,  such  a  combination  of.  circum- 
stances will  produce  upon  his  mental  mood  some- 
what the  effect  of  lateral  sunbeams  shining 
through  richly-colored  windows,  upon  the  marble 


130  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

floor  of  a  cathedral.  The  images  of  Memory 
and  Hope  will  appear  magnified,  and  lit  up  into 
soothing  beauty,  as  revealed  by  the  mellow  light 
of  musing.  At  least,  such  was  my  experience 
during  the  afternoon  of  a  long  day,  the  evening 
of  which  we  designed  to  pass  under  shelter  of  the 
Seven  Hills,  whence  the  thunders  of  ancient  elo- 
quence and  war  were  so  lavishly  fulminated. 
Aroused  by  the  exclamation  of  a  Tuscan  friar, 
my  next  neighbor,  who  had  mistaken  a  semi- 
circular cloud  floating  in  the  far  horizon,  for  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's,  I  began  to  note  the  state  of 
things  around.  Our  humble  locomotive  was 
creeping  up  a  hill,  formidable  only  from  its 
length,  and  the  customary  murmur  of  paupers  at 
the  windows  was  blending  with  the  rumbling  of 
the  carriage  and  the  monotonous  cheerings  of  the 
vetturino.  Suddenly  a  face  peered  in  at  the  win- 
dow, so  singular  and  startling  in  its  features  and 
expression,  as  to  convey  an  impression  never  to 
be  forgotten.  The  beggar  throng  seemed  to 
have  been  awed  into  a  retreat  by  the  stranger's 
appearance;  so  that  the  idea,  that  he  was  of 
their  fraternity,  was  banished  as  soon  as  sugges- 
ted. Grasping  the  knob  of  the  coach  door,  and 
leaning  over  till  his  long,  dark  beard  rested  on 
the  window  sill,  he  gazed  with  stern  mournful- 
ness  upon  us,  and  muttered,  in  a  subdued,  quiet 
tone,  alternately  in  German  and  Italian, — "  I 
did  n't  do  it,"  till  our  vehicle  reached  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain,  when,  at  the  renewed  speed 


THE  DISCLAIMER.  131 

of  the  horses,  he  stopped,  waved  his  hand,  looked 
after  us  a  moment,  and  was  lost  to  view. 

While  we  were  tarrying  at  the  gate,  to  obtain 
the  requisite  signatures  to  our  passports,  a  fine- 
looking  old  gentleman,  one  of  the  occupants  of 
the  cabriolet,  perceiving  my  thoughts  were  still 
upon  the  remarkable  intrusion  we  had  recently 
experienced,  seemed  disposed  to  converse  on  the 
subject. 

"Was  not  that  a  head  for  Salvator's  pencil?  " 
he  asked. 

"Ay — think  ye  he  could  not  unfold  a  tale  meet 
for  Dante's  Inferno?"  inquired  the  friar. 

The  old  man  seemed  somewhat  offended,  and 
turned  away  without  replying. 

"Can  you  tell  me  aught  of  this  man?"  I 
asked. 

"  Signer,"  he  replied,  "  perhaps  I  can.  We 
shall  doubtless  meet,  ere  many  days,  at  the  caffe 
or  on  the  Pincian" — 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  officer  who  re- 
turned us  our  passports,  and  in  a  moment  after 
we  were  rattling  by  the  fountain  in  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  most  of  us  absorbed  in  the  thousand 
varying  emotions  with  which  the  stranger  for  the 
first  time  enters  the  Eternal  city. 

Whoever  would  effectually  banish  the  dis- 
agreeable impression  which  the  first  view  of  the 
Forum,  when  seen  by  the  garish  light  of  day, 
almost  invariably  induces,  should  early  avail 


132  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

himself  of  a  moonlight  evening,  to  renew  his 
visit.  The  wood  merchants,  lounging  among 
their  cattle  and  diminutive  carts — the  score  of 
ant-like  excavators,  and  the  groups  of  improvi- 
dents,  are  then  no  longer  visible,  and  the  scene 
exhibits  something  of  the  dignity  which  we  spon- 
taneously associate  with  Roman  ruins.  At  such 
a  season  I  had  perambulated,  more  than  once, 
the  space  between  the  Arch  of  Titus  and  the 
Temple  of  Peace,  and  began  to  wonder  that  no 
other  sojourner  had  been  tempted  by  the  au- 
spicious light  to  roam  thither — for  the  moon  was 
nearly  full,  and  the  atmosphere  remarkably  clear 
— when,  happening  to  glance  toward  the  Coli- 
seum, I  saw  a  stately  figure  emerge  from  the  pile, 
as  if  to  answer  my  conjecture.  There  are  cir- 
cumstances under  which  the  sight  of  a  human 
being — simply  as  such — is  an  event  of  profound 
interest.  Thus  it  was  on  this  occasion;  and  I 
stepped  from  the  shadow  of  the  ruin  near  which  I 
was  standing,  that  the  stranger  might  be  aware 
of  my  presence.  Immediately  his  steps  were 
directed  toward  me,  and,  while  yet  at  some  dis- 
tance, the  voice  in  which  his  salutation  was 
uttered,  convinced  me  that  my  aged  compagnon 
fde  voyage  was  approaching.  In  a  few  moments 
we  were  seated  upon  a  bench  which  some  labor- 
ers had  left  among  the  weeds,  muffled  in  our 
cloaks ;  and  thus  the  old  man  spoke  in  answer  to 
my  entreaties  for  his  promised  tale. 


THE  DISCLALMER.  133 

"  It  is  a  curious  study,  signer,  to  trace  the^ 
inklings  of  superstition,  where  the  general  vein  of 
character  is  vivacious  or  its  elements  intense. 
And  it  is,  perhaps,  impossible  for  an  unimagina- 
tive mind  to  understand  the  deep  interest  which 
urges  some  men  daringly  to  touch  the  sensitive 
and  latent  chords  of  the  human  heart,  in  order  to 
call  forth  their  mystic  music.  Yet  with  Garl 
Werner,  the  love  of  thus  experimenting  was  a 
passion.  Not  that  he  lacked  susceptibility:  on 
the  contrary,  the  very  refinement  of  his  feel- 
ings led  him  to  speculate  upon  the  deeper  and 
more  intricate  characteristics  of  his  race.  Deeply 
imbued  with  the  transcendental  spirit  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  intellectual  men  of  his  country,  his 
curiosity  was  essentially  ideal.  Several  years 
ago  he  arrived  in  Rome,  and  was  soon  domesti- 
cated in  the  family  of  Christofero  Verdi,  whose 
suite  of  apartments  were  directly  above  a  range 
of  studios  in  one  of  the  most  extensive  buildings 
in  the  Via  Condotta.  His  rooms,  as  you  must  be 
aware,  if  you  have  many  acquaintances  among 
the  German  residents  here,  were,  at  this  time,  a 
great  resort  for  northern  artists.  Berenice  Verdi, 
his  only  child,  was  one  of  those  beings  who  seem 
destined  to  pass  through  life  without  being  justly 
apprehended  even  by  their  intimates.  There 
was  a  peculiar  want  of  correspondence  between 
her  ordinary  manner  and  real  disposition.  She 
was  playful  rather  than  serious,  and  yet  beneath 
a  winning  sportiveness  of  demeanor,  deep  and 
12 


134          ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

*strange  elements  of  feeling  and  fancy  were  glow- 
ing. Between  Carl  and  Berenice  there  grew  up  a 
strong  sympathy;  and  yet  the  sentiment  could  not 
he  called  love.  Indeed,  her  habitual  treatment  of 
her  father's  young  friend  was  what  the  world 
would  called  coquettish.  She  was  ever  rallying 
him  on  his  peculiarities,  and  he  was  ever  acting 
the  philosopher  rather  than  the  beau.  But  the 
truth  was,  she  deeply  reverenced  Carl,  and  was 
drawn  toward  him  by  his  very  isolation  and 
kindness;  and  he  saw  farther  into  her  character 
than  any  one  else,  and  was  sensible  of  an  interest 
such  as  the  consciousness  of  this  insight  alone, 
would  naturally  inspire.  Berenice  was  nervous 
and  excitable  in  her  temperament,  and  suscepti- 
ble to  the  awful  in  romance  beyond  any  being  I 
ever  knew.  Carl  wielded  this  influence  with  the 
freedom  and  power  of  an  imaginative  German. 
She  felt  his  sway,  and,  like  other  unacknowl- 
edged victims  in  the  social  universe,  strove, 
perhaps  unwittingly,  by  an  assumed  appearance, 
to  keep  out  of  sight  reality. 

"  Carl  came  to  Rome  professedly  as  an  artist ; 
but  the  views,  the  motives,  the  very  spirit  of  the 
man  were  as  totally  unlike  those  which  influence 
and  characterize  the  multitude  of  students  of 
painting  and  sculpture  who  frequent  this  region, 
as  his  physiognomy ;  and  that,  you  are  aware,  is 
sufficiently  remarkable.  One  trait,  which  I  ob- 
served at  once,  was  sufficient  to  distinguish  him 
from  the  herd.  So  wide  and  seemingly  impas- 


THE  DISCLAIMER.  135 

sable,  in  his  mind,  was  the  chasm  between  con- 
ception and  execution,  that  his  genius,  inven- 
tive and  active  as  it  was,  appeared  completely 
thwarted  and  bewildered.  The  few  results  of  its 
exercise  with  which  I  am  acquainted,  were 
called  forth  by  the  appeal  of  friendship ;  and 
these  were  altogether  insufficient  to  rescue  the 
young  German  from  the  charge  of  idleness  and 
apathy  brought  against  him,  sometimes  with  no 
little  asperity,  by  some  members  of  his  fraternity. 
But  Carl  duly  received  his  remittances,  dis- 
charged his  obligations,  contributed  his  moiety 
toward  the  convivial  enjoyments  of  his  compa- 
triots, and  molested  no  one;  and,  therefore,  he 
was  permitted  to  enjoy  his  eccentricities  in  com- 
parative peace.  One  or  two  letters  were,  indeed, 
forwarded  by  a  pretentious  acquaintance  to  his 
nearest  relative,  suggesting  the  expediency  of 
incarcerating  him  in  an  insane  asylum ;  but  as 
no  notice  was  taken  of  the  epistles,  it  is  presumed 
they  shared  the  common  fate  of  voluntary  advice, 
and  were  treated  with  perfect  indifference,  silent 
indignation,  or  contempt.  The  conduct  which 
induced  such  a  procedure  was,  in  truth,  such  as 
an  ordinary  observer  would  naturally  ascribe  to 
mental  aberration  ;  and,  strictly  speaking,  it 
might  have  been  thus  accounted  for  philosophi- 
cally. Carl  passed  the  greater  part  of  every 
night  amid  these  ruins ;  his  speculations  on  the 
obelisks,  treasures  of  the  Vatican,  and  even  on 
the  opera  performances,  were  as  unintelligible  to 


136  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

most  persons  as  they  were  intrinsically  peculiar. 
But  his  chief  peculiarity  was  that  to  which  I  first 
alluded — a  disposition  to  play  upon  the  minds 
of  his  fellow  beings,  by  addressing  their  hopes 
and  fears  through  the  medium  of  imagination.  I 
could  not  now  relate  the  thousand  anecdotes  I 
have  heard  in  illustration  of  the  force  of  this  pro- 
pensity in  him.  The  single,  fatal  instance,  of 
the  effects  of  which  I  was  personally  a  witness, 
will  suffice. 

"  One  evening,  while  Carl  and  several  brother 
artists  were  enjoying  their  coffee  at  Christofero's, 
the  conversation  turned  upon  portrait  painting, 
and  finally  upon  the  attempts  of  artists  to  portray 
themselves.  Berenice — who  just  before  had  re- 
lated a  dream,  in  which  several  of  the  old 
portraits  in  the  Barbarini  Palace  seemed  to  her 
suddenly  endowed  with  life,  and  to  converse 
together  on  some  of  the  political  interests  of  their 
times — rallied  Carl  as  being  the  only  one  of  the 
coterie  who  had  not  attempted  his  own  likeness. 
'  Confess,  Werner,'  said  she,  '  that  the  fear  of 
not  doing  justice  to  thy  notable  phiz,  has  deterred 
thee  from  any  endeavor  to  prepare  even  a  sketch 
for  thy  friends  in  Leipsic.  I  doubt  if  thou 
wouldst  allow  Titian  and  Raphael,  should  they 
re-appear,  to  share  the  honor  of  depicting  thee.' 
— Carl  made  no  reply  save  by  composedly 
sipping  his  favorite  beverage;  and  when  the 
laugh  had  subsided,  the  subject  was  forgotten  in 
the  discussion  of  some  other  topic. 


THE   DISCLAIMER.  137 

"  On  a  fine  afternoon,  a  few  days  after  this 
interview,  Carl  and  Berenice  incidentally  met  on 
the  dark  stair-way.  It  was  not  usual  for  the 
former  to  go  forth  at  that  hour,  and  the  latter 
was  in  a  conversable  humor.  By  way  of  begin- 
ning a  colloquy,  she  begged  the  loan  of  a  particu- 
lar drawing.  Werner,  as  usual,  expressed  his 
readiness  to  oblige  her,  and  hurried  on ;  but  after 
descending  a  few  steps,  he  turned  round,  as  if  a 
sudden  and  important  thought  had  struck  him. 
'  Berenice,'  said  he,  '  go  not  to  my  room  for 
the  sketch ;  I  will  bring  it  thee  in  an  hour.' — 
Having  thus  spoken,  he  hastened  away,  the  iron- 
shod  heels  of  his  boots  ringing  on  the  stone  stairs, 
till  he  reached  the  street  door — then,  returning, 
with  a  noiseless  tread,  to  his  studio,  he  so  ar- 
ranged the  window  curtains  as  to  exclude  all 
light  except  the  chastened  rays  that  gleamed 
through  the  upper  panes,  and  shot  obliquely 
across  the  room,  leaving  the  side  which  was 
hung  with  paintings  in  shadow.  Here  he  had 
previously  stationed  an  easel,  upon  which  rested 
a  fresh  and  richly-draped  portrait,  while  from  its 
edge,  masses  of  green  cloth  fell  in  folds  to  the 
floor,  so  that  nothing  but  the  projecting  top  and 
slanting  position  of  the  machine  rendered  it  cog- 
nizable. To  cut  out,  with  a  sharp  penknife,  the 
head  from  the  picture,  and  insert  his  own  living 
head  in  its  place,  to  comb  the  hair  and  whiskers 
outward  upon  the  canvas  so  as  to  render  it  im- 
possible to  distinguish  the  actual  from  the  por- 
12* 


138  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

trayed,  to  fix  his  dark,  deep  eye  upon  a  distant 
point,  and  compose  into  death-like  quietude  the 
lines  of  his  expressive  countenance, — all  this 
with  Carl  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment. 

"Meantime  Berenice  might  be  heard  restlessly 
pacing  the  narrow  bounds  of  her  little  boudoir 
overhead,  her  mind  occupied  precisely  as  Werner 
had  anticipated.  '  What  can  Carl  be  about  ? ' 
she  musingly  inquired ;  '  now  what  if  we  have 
laughed  him  into  taking  his  own  portrait?'  A 
capital  joke,  truly,  to  broach  at  supper  to-night ! 
What !  the  independent,  self-sufficient  Werner, 
who  lives  in  the  clouds,  spurred  into  unwonted 
action  by  the  ridicule  of  us — common  mortals? 
Ha !  ha !  There  can  be  no  harm  in  taking  a 
single  peep  into  his  sanctum.  By  this  time  he  is 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  or  in  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese.'  And  with  these  reflections,  Berenice  ran 
down,  and  stole  gently  into  the  apartment  of  the 
mysterious  artist. 

"Her  eye  fell  directly  upon  the  countenance  of 
Werner.  '  Conceited  as  ever  ! '  she  exclaimed, 
regarding  the  elegant  drapery  depicted  upon  the 
canvas ;  '  and  the  likeness, — poh  !  that 's  no 
better  than  it  should  be ;  the  brow  is  too  ample, 
the  eye  too  expressive ;  that  scornful  play  of  the 
lip,  though,  is  right.  Well,  I  suppose  this 
flattered,  wooden-looking  portrait  must  be  lauded 
as  the  best  product  of  the  pencil  since  Vandyke's 
time — and  all  because  of  the  industrious,  affable 
and  gifted  Carl  Werner  of  Leipsic  ! '  As  Ber»- 


THE  DISCLAIMER.  139 

nice  uttered  the  last  sentence,  in  a  tone  of  irony, 
she  fixed  her  gaze  upon  the  eyes  of  the  portrait. 
The  echo  of  her  words  seemed  marvellously  pro- 
longed, and  just  as  it  died  away,  the  solemn 
chant  of  a  priestly  train,  about  to  administer  the 
last  sacrament  to  the  dying  inhabitant  of  the 
next  dwelling,  stole  mournfully  up  from  the 
street.  The  latent  superstition  of  Berenice  was 
awakened.  Her  gaze  became  more  steadfast. 
She  thought,  she  dreamed, — nay,  she  felt  that 
those  eyes  were  reading  her  soul  as  they  full  oft 
had  done;  the  electric  fluid  which  only  living 
eyes  can  communicate  was  perceptibly  radiated  : 
the  very  lips  seemed  wreathing  into  a  meaning 
smile,  and  the  lines  of  the  forehead  working  as 
she  had  seen  them  in  his  thoughtful  moods.  She 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  withdrawn  her 
gaze;  but  the  illusion  was  too  complete.  She 
kneeled  down  from  very  feebleness  and  awe,  and 
folding  her  arms  fervently  upon  her  bosom,  as  if 
to  still  its  audible  throbbings,  she  gazed  on  like  a 
fascinated  bird.  Cold  dew  distilled  upon  her 
brow;  the  fever  of  her  blood  dried  it  away,  and 
now  its  surface  was  calm,  and  unmoistened,  like 
newly-chiseled  marble. 

"  Her  emotions,  individually  intense  as  they 
were,  in  their  now  concentrated  energy  were 
momentarily  growing  more  unendurable.  She 
leaned  forward  in  an  agony  of  expectation.  The 
aspect  of  the  portrait  remained  unchanged,  but 
from  the  lips  stole  out,  in  the  tones  which  had 


140  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

won  her  heart,  the  single  word — '  Berenice ! '  It 
struck  her  ear  like  the  knell  of  a  catastrophe. 
She  uttered  one  despairing  cry,  and  sunk  upon 
the  floor.  That  ejaculation  was  borne  on  her 
last  breath. 

"  When  my  efforts  had  been  unavailingly  ex- 
hausted in  efforts  to  resuscitate  the  unfortunate 
lady — for  being  the  nearest  physician,  I  was 
first  called — my  attention  was  turned  toward  the 
wretched  originator  of  the  tragedy.  Werner 
lay  crouched  upon  the  carpet,  gazing  with  an  ex- 
pression in  which  inanity  and  despair  were 
strangely  blended,  upon  the  form  of  Berenice. 
Reason  was  now,  indeed,  overthrown.  Perceiv- 
ing himself  noticed,  he  crawled  to  my  feet,  and 
looking  piteously  up,  murmured  in  a  convulsive 
tone — '/  didn't  do  if  His  constant  repetition 
of  this  phrase,  year  after  year,  has  obtained  for 
him  the  title  of  THE  DISCLAIMER.  Remorse  peo- 
ples his  imagination  with  her  awful  images. 
And  he  will  doubtless  be  a  wanderer,  feared  by 
the  rabble  and  pitied  by  few,  till  accident  or  dis- 
ease lays  low  his  powerful  frame,  and  enfran- 
chises from  the  thrall  of  insanity  his  extraordi- 
nary and  aspiring  spirit." 


THE  SAD  BIRD  OF  THE  ADRIATIC. 


' 1  loved  her  from  my  boyhood — she  to  me 
Was  as  a  fairy  city  of  the  heart." 


No  complacent  hero  of  chivalric  times  ever  sal- 
lied forth  from  his  castle-domain  with  a  more 
free  or  self-sustained  feeling,  than  Giovanni 
Deltini  left  the  Monforti  Palace — the  abode  of  a 
branch  of  his  family,  on  a  calm  summer  evening, 
at  a  period  subsequent  to  the  era  when  knightly 
enterprise  was  rife  in  Europe.  It  had  been  a 
day  of  festival  in  Venice ;  of  which  the  young 
man  was  reminded  by  the  unusual  number  of 
passing  gondolas,  indicating  that  their  various 
occupants,  wearied  with  the  amusements  of  the 
Piazza,  were  hastening,  at  an  unwontedly  early 
hour,  to  enjoy  the  more  rational  delights  of  the 
conversazione.  The  exhilaration  or  rather  hope- 
fulness of  his  mood  was  not  unobserved  by  one 
of  his  associates,  whose  gondola  slowly  ap- 
proached the  palace,  while  he  stood  in  momen- 
tary hesitation  upon  the  steps, — then  pointing  the 


142  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

expectant  gondolier  toward  the  grand  canal, 
wrapt  his  light  cloak  about  him,  and  disappeared 
beneath  the  awning.  The  aspect  of  Giovanni 
would  not,  indeed,  have  excited  the  notice  of  a 
less  circumspect  or  interested  observer ;  but  this 
cavalier  was  not  unread  even  in  the  conventional 
signs  of  success,  and  his  own  mind  being  filled 
with  the  image  of  the  lovely  heiress  of  the 
Monforti  honors,  it  was  not  surprising  that  the 
happy  aspect  of  his  friend,  as  he  made  his  egress 
from  that  lady's  portal,  should  awaken  his  pass- 
ing and  perhaps  painful  attention.  He  remem- 
bered, also,  Giovanni's  habitual  serious  if  not  sad 
expression — a  characteristic  which  in  boyhood 
had  obtained  him  the  appellation  of  Signor  Preta, 
and  contrasting  it  with  his  present  cheerfulness, 
he  immediately,  in  accordance  with  his  Italian 
philosophy,  ascribed  the  miraculous  change  to 
the  magic  influence  of  the  same  passion  which 
now  possessed  his  own  bosom.  And  a  shade  of 
displeasure  darkened  his  brow,  as  his  former 
intimate  returned  his  formal  greeting  with  fa- 
miliar affability.  Utterly  without  foundation, 
however,  were  the  jealous  thoughts  awakened  in 
the  breast  of  the  Signorina  Monforti's  suitor  by 
this  casual  meeting.  No  rival  of  his  was  Gio- 
vanni; not  having  even  seen  or  sought  to  see,  on 
the  present  occasion,  the  fair  denizen  of  the  pal- 
ace. His  frequent  visits  thither,  however,  were 
not  without  an  object  and  an  interest.  His  fa- 
vorite recreation  was  discussion  with  Father 


THE  SAD  BIRD. 


143 


Teodoro — the  old  confessor  whom  the  Duke  of 
Monforti  had,  many  years  before,  adopted  as  a 
friend  and  counsellor.  Giovanni  had  been  early 
attracted  to  the  old  man's  side  by  the  fund  of  story 
which  he  pictured  out  with  dramatic  effect,  to 
the  ardent  imagination  of  the  enthusiastic  boy; 
and  the  fountain  which  had  quenched  his  child- 
ish thirst  for  novelty,  now  ministered  to  his 
manly  appetite  for  knowledge,  and  excited  into 
pleasurable  activity,  the  reflective  sentiment, 
which  was  the  deepest  resource  of  his  nature. 

Giovanni  had  resided  for  several  years  in 
Padua,  arid  at  the  then  flourishing  university  of 
that  city  had  obtained  an  education  beyond  that 
which  many  of  his  ciders  could  boast,  since  it 
had  subserved  the  acquisition  of  habits  of  mind 
and  the  formation  of  tastes  of  a  high  and  felici- 
tous character.  He  had  been  but  a  few  days  in 
his  native  city ;  and  his  family  being  at  their 
estate  on  the  borders  of  the  Brenta,  the  young 
Venetian  freely  devoted  the  hours  to  reviving  his 
acquaintance  with  the  varied  haunts  of  earlier 
years.  With  the  exception  of  the  good  padre's 
society,  his  enjoyments  had,  thus  far,  been  chiefly 
of  a  solitary  kind. 

The  converse  of  this  evening  had  been  pecu- 
liarly happy.  The  young  Deltini  had  passed  the 
morning  in  attending  the  regatta  sports  and 
church  ceremonies.  He  had  entered  cheerfully 
into  the  spirit  of  the  day — for  he  was  neither  un- 
social nor  morose,  although  thoughtfully  inclined, 


144  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

and  ideal  in  his  tendencies.  The  friend  to  whose 
companionship  he  had  trusted,  for  his  chief 
pleasure,  during  the  festa,  deserted  him  with  a 
hasty  apology,  to  follow  in  the  train  of  a  rich 
senator  whom  Giovanni  despised  for  his  arro- 
gance. And  the  youth  had  passed  the  remainder 
of  the  day  in  a  listless  and  dissatisfied  state  of 
mind,  and  retired  from  its  festivities  with  scarcely 
an  inkling  of  the  alacrity  which  was  fresh  and 
eager  within  him  at  the  morning  hour.  In  a 
word,  the  sad  recollection  which  the  susceptible 
as  well  as  the  unrefined  must  endure,  had  began  to 
dawn — we  should  rather  say  lower — upon  him, 
even  from  what  the  unthinking  would  call  the 
trivial  experience  of  a  day.  He  had  felt,  almost 
for  the  first  time,  the  solitude  of  a  crowd ;  he  had 
deeply  recognized  the  selfishness  of  the  world. 
He  was  an  incipient  misanthrope.  And  yet  from 
communion  with  a  kindred  but  more  mature 
spirit,  he  came  forth  with  the  bearing  of  one  who 
had  something  to  live  for,  and  much  to  hope. 
His  Mentor  had  vividly  suggested  to  him  the  idea 
of  philanthropy,  and  excited  a  consciousness  of 
personal  capacity.  A  splendid  vista  was  open- 
ing to  his  mind's  eye ;  a  beautiful  spirit  was 
rising  from  the  subsiding  tide  of  past  emotion  ;  a 
rich  vision  was  shaping  itself  from  the  mists  of 
futurity,  and  the  sun  of  Hope  was  arraying  it  in 
its  golden  hues.  And  the  outward  scene  marred 
not  the  world  of  musing ;  for  the  gondola  had 
quietly  shot  out  from  among  the  buildings,  and 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  ^45 

was  gliding,  almost  alone,  upon  the  moon-lit  bay 
of  Venice. 

The  epoch  which  preceded  the  downfall  of  the 
Adriatic  Queen,  although  it  witnessed  the  gradual 
resignation  of  her  foreign  conquests,  was  not,  for 
a  considerable  period,  marked  by  any  prominent 
indications  of  decay  within  the  boundaries  of  the 
Ocean  City.  The  immense  riches  which  the  en- 
joyment of  such  noble  commercial  facilities  had 
induced,  still  filled  the  coffers  and  displayed 
itself  in  the  magnificent  establishments  of  the 
Venetians.  And  their  wealth  was  probably 
never  more  apparent  to  the  stranger,  than  when 
the  inactivity  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  external 
advantages,  and  the  cessation  of  war,  had  pre- 
pared the  way  for  that  dire  foe  against  which 
even  the  powers  of  imperial  Rome  proved  un- 
availing— insidious  Luxury.  No  entertainment 
commanded  so  high  a  price  in  proportion  to  its 
intrinsic  excellence,  or  was  more  universally 
sought  and  enjoyed,  than  music.  The  fondness 
for  the  art  which  characterizes  the  Italians,  was 
gratified  to  an  extent  easily  imagined,  at  a  period 
when  the  means  of  procuring  it  in  perfection, 
were  so  abundant  as  among  the  wealthy  children 
of  the  Sea-Cybele.  Many  a  family  who  could 
not  boast  of  a  casa  granda  on  the  Great  Canal,  or 
whom  circumstances  had  precluded  from  sharing 
the  perils  and  profits  of  commerce,  thanked  the 
Virgin  for  the  dolce  voce  with  which  one  of  its 
13 


146  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

members  was  endowed,  whereby  the  handsome 
support  of  all  of  them  was  secured. 

Giovanni  was  not,  therefore,  surprised  to  see  a 
small  gondola  propelled  by  a  single  gondolier, 
pass  the  silvery  track  several  rods  in  advance 
of  his  prow.  The  size  and  equipment  of  the 
little  bark,  and  the  evident  aim  of  the  oarsman  to 
keep  at  a  little  distance  and  in  the  line  of  the 
breeze,  prepared  him  to  expect  a  serenade,  for 
which  he  was  not,  indeed,  disinclined.  His 
bargemen  almost  involuntarily  slackened  the 
sweep  of  the  oars,  and  even  repressed,  as  far  as 
possible,  their  measured  breathing,  when  the  first 
notes  were  audible.  The  precise  words  of  the 
cavatina  may  not,  indeed,  be  given ;  but  the  idea 
has  been  happily  embodied  in  a  more  modern 
form : — 

Senza  pace,  e  senza  speme 
Con  un  cor  che  troppo  sente, 
lo  vedro  1'  eta  ridente 
Consumarsi  nel  dolor, 
Ah  !  per  mi  non  v'e  piu  speme, 
Non  v'e  pace,  non  v'amor ! 

These  words,  chanted  by  a  voice  modulated  to 
the  sweetest  intonations,  found  its  way  directly 
to  the  hearts  of  the  listeners.  The  oars  were 
suffered  to  trail  till  the  gondola  became  almost 
stationary.  Giovanni  leaned  from  the  little 
window,  and  when  the  song  ceased,  cleared  his 
gaze  to  mark  distinctly  the  fair  musician.  The 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  147 

inimitable  pathos  of  the  vocalism  had  moved  him 
deeply,  and  he  was  sensible  of  a  spontaneous  and 
respectful  interest  in  the  songstress.  He  could 
only  discover,  however,  through  the  blinds  of  the 
opposite  gondola,  the  folds  of  a  white  garment. 
Giving  the  signal  to  approach,  and  throwing  a 
coin  into  the  proffered  cap  of  the  gondolier,  he 
bade  him  ask  the  sweet  vocalist  to  come  forth, 
that  he  might  thank  her  for  a  more  congenial 
melody  than  had  blest  him  for  years.  That  per- 
sonage replied  to  his  request  only  by  a  grave 
movement,  intimating  the  impossibility  of  acced- 
ing to  it;  yet  there  was  so  much  gentleness  in 
the  decisive  refusal,  that  even  one  less  kindly 
disposed  than  Giovanni  could  scarcely  have  been 
irritated  thereby.  The  manner  of  the  gondolier, 
therefore,  only  served  to  excite  his  interest  more 
deeply ;  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  bestowed 
upon  him  the  attention  his  appearance  was  well 
calculated  to  awaken.  He  was  somewhat  above 
the  medium  height,  and  his  figure  so  well  propor- 
tioned and  lightly  framed  as  to  convey  the  idea 
of  youth — an  impression  which  his  white  hair 
and  the  bland  seriousness  of  his  face  at  once  dis- 
sipated. Instead  of  the  decorated  jacket,  gay 
sash,  and  tasseled  cap  of  the  craft,  his  habili- 
ments were  of  a  dark  hue ;  and  but  for  his  em- 
broidered vest  and  the  evidence  his  complexion 
and  thin  but  muscular  arms  gave  of  his  avocation, 
one  might  have  taken  the  old  man,  as  his  form 
was  half  concealed  in  shadow,  for  a  member  of 


148  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

the  present  Armenian  fraternity,  as  readily  as  for 
a  gondolier  of  Venice  in  the  days  of  her  pros- 
perity. Having  surveyed  him  a  moment,  he  was 
about  to  renew  his  request,  when  he  was  startled 
by  the  hurried  whisper  of  his  own  gondolier  at 
the  stern.  "  Pardon,  signor,"  said  he,  "  you  are 
a  stranger  in  Venice — we  had  better  away." 

" Pazienza,  Pietro,"  replied  his  master.  "Old 
man,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  aged  oars- 
man, "I  would  see  the  melodist  beneath  the 
awning." 

"Thou  knowest,  signor,  the  finest  warblers 
have  not  the  richest  plumage,"  quickly  again 
whispered  his  officious  adviser.  "Signor  mio,  this 
parley  is  dangerous.  St.  Mark  protect  us ! — ah 
he  is  off!" 

"Follow  !"  was  the  reply;  and  the  gondolas 
continued  side  by  side. 

"  Speak,  I  pray  you,"  said  the  young  man ;  but 
the  veteran  answered  only  by  a  sad  smile  and  a 
gaze  of  anxious  scrutiny  directed  toward  the  dis- 
tant and  fairy-like  city. 

"  He  is  dumb,  signor,"  said  one  of  the  boatmen 
with  obvious  awe. 

"  Poverino,"  exclaimed  Giovanni ;  "  friend,  I 
desire  to  behold  thy  precious  charge,  because  it 
would  bring  pleasure  to  one  familiar  with  sorrow, 
to  look  upon  the  only  vocalist,  among  the  many 
whose  voices  have  echoed  beneath  this  sky  to- 
day, whose  music  has  proved  a  balm." 


THE   SAD  BIRD.  149 

A  pause  followed,  broken  only  by  the  gentle 
splash  of  the  oars,  and  the  muttered  invocations 
of  those  who  manned  the  gondola  of  Giovanni. 
':  Father  Teodoro  was  right,"  at  length  he  mur- 
mured ;  "  I  must  learn  to  be  distrusted;"  and  he 
threw  himself  back  upon  the  cushions,  with  the 
intention  of  directing  Pietro  to  abandon  the  use- 
less pursuit,  when  a  slight  noise  made  him  hesi- 
tate:  the  oars  were  simultaneously  lifted,  their 
bearers  hastily  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  the 
gondolas  swayed  gently  apart,  and  were  at  rest. 
Giovanni  noted  not  these  phenomena.  That  low 
rattling  sound  so  well  known  to  his  ear,  was  now 
electrical : — it  was  produced  by  slipping  aside  the 
blind  of  the  opposite  gondola.  Thither,  as  to  a 
revelation  of  wonder,  his  eyes  were  instantly 
turned.  The  face  which  appeared,  produced,  at 
first,  simply  a  strong  impression  of  surprise.  He 
had  anticipated  the  sight  of  beauty  ;  and  though 
his  quick  fancy  had  but  vaguely  imaged  its  details, 
the  half- formed  portrait  which  that  active  limner 
had  already  created,  was  naturally  instinct  with 
the  peculiar  species  of  loveliness  that  most 
commonly  greeted  him.  He  had  unconsciously 
endowed  his  invisible  consoler  with  eyes  elo- 
quently dark,  and  hair  of  the  same  hue.  But 
these  Italian  characteristics  he  failed  to  discover. 
The  hair  of  the  sweet  melodist  was,  indeed,  dark, 
but  not  deeply  so,  and  the  eyes  were  Italian  only 
in  their  expressiveness — so  deep,  full  and  vary- 
ing, that  the  idea  of  ascertaining  their  color  never 
13* 


150  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

obtruded  itself  upon  his  mind;  all  that  was  dis- 
tinctly realized  was  their  witchery — their  mystic 
and  moving  power.  Giovanni  was,  at  the  first 
glance,  only  surprised  that  they  were  not  jet- 
black,  like  the  eyes  of  the  Padua  donnas  he  had 
heard  sing,  or  the  eyes  of  his  sisters,  who  were 
doubtless  then  singing  on  the  banks  of  the  Brenta. 
It  was  not  remarkable  that  fine  vocalism  and 
black  eyes  were  nearly  associated  in  his  mind. 
Fond  as  he  was  of  analyzing  his  feelings,  and 
predetermined  as  he  had  been  to  make  his  gaze  a 
searching  one,  the  recurrence  of  those  tones  sent 
a  new  thrill  to  his  heart,  and  banished  his  newly 
regained  self-possession. 

"  Heard  I  not  the  name  of  Father  Teodoro, 
signer?'"  asked  the  stranger. 

"Thou  didst,  sweet  lady." 

"  Dost  thou  know  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  friend — and  perchance  thine." 

The  inquiry  seemed  to  awaken  her  to  a  sense 
of  indiscretion ; — for  she  compressed  her  lips, 
seemed  inwardly  chiding  herself,  and  moved  as  if 
about  to  cut  short  the  interview.  Giovanni  hast- 
ened to  check  even  the  latent  intention,  and  with 
respectful  earnestness,  thus  addressed  her : — 
"  Lady — for  it  is  in  vain  that  thou  appearest 
pursuing  an  avocation  generally  followed  by 
peasant  girls  from  the  shore,  or  plebeians  of  the 
city — lady,  let  me  thank  thee  for  so  sweet  a 
serenade,  and  pardon  one  who  deeply  sympa- 
thizes with  the  sorrowful  spirit  thy  melody  indi- 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  151 

cates,  for  asking  what  motive  induces  thee  thus 
richly  to  minister  to  the  by-way  pleasure  of  Vene- 
tians, when  thou  shouldst  grace  the  innermost 
circle  of  their  patrician  society." — She  who  was 
thus  addressed,  as  the  kindly  words  were  uttered, 
leaned  from  her  gondola,  and  the  clear  moonlight 
rendered  beautifully  apparent  her  regular  fea- 
tures, calm  and  finely  arched  brow — the  sweet 
smile  which  stole  upon  her  lip,  and  the  grateful 
tenderness  which  spoke  in  her  eye.  An  instant 
elapsed  after  he  had  spoken,  when  in  the  same 
touching  voice  she  pronounced  the  brief  but 
meaning  reply,  "  The  love  of  my  mother"  Then 
gracefully  waving  her  hand,  she  drew  back  the 
lattice  ;  and  while  Giovanni,  completely  lost  in 
his  own  feelings,  looked  listlessly  on — her  light 
barge  swiftly  sped  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
nearest  shore. 

As  his  gondola  approached  the  city,  Giovanni 
emerged  from  beneath  its  sable  covering,  and 
leaning  upon  the  frame-work,  applied  himself  to 
elicit  from  Pietro  intelligence  which  interested 
him  to  a  degree  of  which  he  was,  as  yet,  quite 
unaware.  "Thou  wast  wont  to  be  faithful  to  me, 
Pietro,  when  thy  fidelity  was  of  little  importance. 
and  my  favor  of  no  advantage  to  thee;  and 
methinks  that  now  thou  canst  scarcely  prove 
otherwise." 

"  Will  the  signor  question  his  noble  father  as 
to  Pietro  ? "  asked  the  old  gondolier,  with  the 
confidence  of  one  unjustly  suspected. 


152  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  No,  Pietro ;  't  is  needless.  I  did  but  try  thee. 
But  hasten  to  inform  me  respecting  the  myste- 
rious occupants  of  yon  strange  bark." 

"  It  is  little  more  than  a  year,  signor,  since 
aught  was  known  of  them  on  the  Quay  or  in  the 
Piazza.  She  is  called  the  Sad  Bird  of  the  Adriatic. 
One  of  those  melancholy  serenades  which  so 
much  delighted  you  to-night,  equally  pleased  one 
of  the  senators  who  encountered  her  gondola  on 
his  return,  about  this  hour,  from  Fusina.  His 
efforts  to  obtain  a  sight  of  her  were,  without 
success,  although  it  is  said  he  proffered  a  treble 
salary  if  she  would  join  his  palace  band.  Many, 
after  this,  sought  and  enjoyed  her  music  ;  but  all 
attempts  to  invade  her  incognito  were  avoided 
from  the  fact  which  was  promulgated  that  she 
was  performing  a  vow,  being  under  the  special 
protection  of  the  church.  Hence  she  is  rever- 
enced by  every  one.  Her  gondola  glides  about 
between  the  Lido  and  the  Quay  from  sunset  till 
dawn,  in  weather  like  this.  She  never  enters  the 
city.  Where  she  abides  we  know  not ;  although 
many  say  at  St.  Lazarus.  Her  buonctmanos  are 
very  great,  and  I  think  this  night,  for  the  first 
time,  has  her  face  been  seen  on  these  waters. 
Ah,  signor,  I  tremble  for  the  consequences  of  this 
adventure.  Nicolo,  the  most  daring  gondolier  in 
Venice,  is  undergoing  severe  penance  for  having 
pledged  himself  to  track  out  her  retreat.  St. 
Mark  grant  it  may  bode  us  no  evil." 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  153 

"  Amen,"  exclaimed  Giovanni  ;  "  and  remem- 
ber, Pietro,  this  meeting  is  a  secret." 

"  Deep  as  mid-ocean,  signer." 

"But  the  knaves  yonder" — pointing  to  the 
other  bargemen. 

"  Signer,  they  are  mine  !  " 

Pietro  had  merely  imparted  the  tale  which 
circulated  among  his  fellows.  Camilla  Goretti, 
for  such  was  the  true  name  of  the  "  Sad  Bird," 
was  the  only  daughter  of  a  Tuscan  lady  of  noble 
origin,  who  had,  a  few  months  before  the  date  of 
our  story,  followed  her  husband  to  Venice,  to 
await  with  him  the  result  of  a  commercial  specu- 
lation— the  last  of  a  series  of  attempts  to  amend 
their  fallen  fortunes.  The  experiment  totally 
failed;  and  the  depressed  nobleman  sank  slowly 
to  his  grave.  The  fair  mourners  had  since 
sojourned  in  one  of  the  retired  islands  in  the 
vicinity  of  Venice.  The  mother's  afflictions  and 
feebleness  were  obviously  subduing  her  vital 
powers;  and  the  daughter,  in  the  pure  spirit  of 
filial  devotion,  with  the  aid  of  the  mute  gondolier, 
who  had  been  in  the  employ  of  the  church, 
adopted  the  scheme  we  have  seen  she  managed 
so  successfully,  and  by  this  means  ministered  to 
her  parent's  every  comfort,  and  yet  preserved  the 
seclusion  so  congenial  to  her  sorrowing  heart  and 
native  delicacy.  She  had  but  one  relative  in  the 
neighborhood,  of  whose  welfare  she  managed  to 
keep  herself  informed,  but  whose  society  the 
stricken  family  had  not  sought  since  their 


154  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

arrival.  He,  therefore,  remained  ignorant  of  the 
abode  of  his  relations,  though  aware  of  their  mis- 
fortunes. Camilla  was  consoled  by  the  title  and 
story  which  the  superstitious  fancy  of  the  Vene- 
tians had  attached  to  her  name,  since  they  threw 
around  her  the  protecting  halo  of  a  sacred  mys- 
tery. She  was  only  surprised  that  the  mournful 
strain  with  which  her  oppressed  feelings  forced 
her  to  begin  her  enterprise,  should  have  proved 
so  effective,  for  she  was  well  aware  of  the  gaiety 
of  the  Venetian  temperament.  She  might  have 
understood  the  charm,  however,  by  reverting  to 
the  peculiar  interest  which  the  human  mind 
takes  in  deep  feeling,  however  sad — especially 
when  the  prevailing  language  which  addresses  it 
is  of  a  superficial  kind,  as  was  then  the  case  in 
Venice.  But  unacquainted  as  she  was,  with  the 
cause  which  rendered  her  airs  so  attractive,  she 
rejoiced  that  it  was  so,  since  she  could  then  sing 
from  the  heart.  Joyful  music  was  but  mockery 
to  one  who  was  watching  the  departure  from  the 
world  of  the  only  being  with  whom  she  could 
claim  near  alliance.  "  The  love  of  her  mother  " 
— the  beautiful  motive  she  had  designated  as  her 
inspiration — she  believed  the  last  which  would 
excite  her  to  effort  on  earth.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, the  destiny  of  her  house,  that  its  last  hope 
should  be  so  speedily  extinguished.  And  when 
a  few  months  passed  away,  and  the  orphan  lifted 
herself  from  the  first  despair  of  bereavement, 
she  found  one  lingering  and  saving  sentiment 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  ^55 

shining  up,  like  a  gem  of  light,  from  the  troubled 
depths  of  her  soul.  Obeying  its  impulse,  after 
weeks  of  lone  mourning,  a  new  day  dawned  upon 
her.  But  of  this  we  must  speak  anon. 

To  a  common  observer,  the  life  of  the  young 
Deltini,  after  the  return  of  his  family,  was  of  the 
same  tenor  as  that  of  the  generality  of  noble 
Venetians  whose  youth  prohibited  their  engaging 
in  the  state  duties  of  the  period,  and  whose  friv- 
olity rendered  permanent  mental  application  of 
any  kind  equally  onerous.  Giovanni  was  often 
encountered,  at  the  usual  hours,  on  the  prome- 
nade beneath  the  arcades  of  St.  Mark,  and  his 
gondofa  occasionally  seen  moored  to  the  steps  of 
the  Rialto  or  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  supe- 
rior edifices.  None  of  his  gay  acquaintances, 
however,  were  sufficiently  interested  to  notice  the 
regularity  and  length  of  his  evening  excursions ; 
and  if  the  though tfulness  of  his  demeanor,  now 
and  then,  drew  a  gaze  after  him,  the  spectator,  if 
young,  only  thought  what  a  marvel  it  was,  that 
one  so  recently  arrived  should  not  be  joyous  in 
festive  Venice — and,  if  old,  shrugged  meaningly 
at  the  idea  of  the  early  involvement  in  her  politi- 
cal intrigues  which  the  anxious  though  unruffled 
brow  denoted.  Giovanni  lived  only  between 
morning  and  evening  twilight.  The  setting  sun 
called  him  to  conscious  and  glad  being.  The 
long  summer  day  was  to  him  a  season  of  dream- 
ing; not  that  the  levee,  the  feast,  or  the  duties  of 
citizenship  were  neglected ;  but  their  formal 


156  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

routine  was  formally  gone  through  with,  and 
gladly  escaped.  But  the  farewell  rays  of  the 
orb  of  day  seemed  to  awake  the  spirit  of  the 
Venetian,  as  they  did,  of  old,  the  latent  harmonies 
of  Memnon's  image.  With  the  eagerness  of  a 
light-hearted  boy,  he  entered  his  richly-adorned 
gondola  at  sunset,  gazed  fondly  over  the  waters, 
and  flitted  from  point  to  point,  seemingly  on  the 
wings  of  caprice.  But  his  erratic  course  was 
guided  by  Love  and  Prudence.  He  kept  almost 
ever  within  sight  and  hearing  of  Camilla,  and 
without  seeming  to  do  so.  Thrice  only  had  he 
approached  sufficiently  near,  to  throw  a  bunch  of 
orange  blossoms  upon  her  awning;  but  these  ex- 
periments had  so  evidently  induced  the  venerable 
gondolier  studiously  to  avoid  him,  that  he  long 
remained  contented  with  nightly  hearing,  in  com- 
mon with  others,  the  melody  of  the  stranger,  and 
watching  her  gondola  till  it  disappeared  in  the 
gloom  at  midnight,  or  was  veiled  by  the  morning 
mist. 

At  length  Giovanni  declared  to  the  alarmed 
Pietro  his  determination  to  seek  a  second  inter- 
view, at  all  hazards.  The  evening  selected  was 
unfortunate ;  gondola  after  gondola  skimmed 
athwart  the  bay  ;  each  lingered  as  the  voice  of 
Camilla  floated  by ;  and  from  each  her  dumb 
boatman  received  tribute  tendered  without  query 
or  comment.  Giovanni  awaited  comparative 
solitude  till  his  patience  was  exhausted.  Then 
motioning  his  gondolier  to  fall  into  the  wake  of  a 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  ^57 

senatorial  barge,  he  was  soon  within  hail  of  the 
vocalist.  Never  did  her  voice  sound  so  rich  and 
moving.  He  longed,  when  it  had  ceased,  to  hear 
the  broad  sweep  of  the  oars  before  him  ;  but  they 
fell  gently,  as  if  beguiled  by  the  strain  ;  and  look- 
ing around,  Giovanni  beheld  the  calm  surface  of 
the  water  dotted  with  various  craft,  and  heard 
the  long  nervous  strokes  of  the  dumb  man's 
paddle.  " Restate >/"  he  exclaimed,  but  the  skiff 
was  soon  contiguous  to  a  long  line  of  advancing 
prows.  Giovanni,  in  despair,  could  only  hurl 
his  signet  ring  through  Camilla's  lattice,  before 
twenty  eyes  were  marking  his  movements. 

Weeks  passed  away,  and  the  mysterious  melody 
which  had  charmed  Venice  was  hushed.  No 
one  beheld  the  sacred  frequenter  of  the  Adriatic 
waters ;  and  conjecture  was  busy  in  weaving 
fables  which  should  explain,  without  accounting 
for  her  disappearance.  The  gondoliers  doubted 
not  that  her  vow  was  completed,  and  that  she 
had  gone  home  ;  many  sagely  suggested  that  she 
had  descended  into  a  marine  abode ;  and  not  a 
few  believed  that  her  mystic  bark  was  riding, 
under  the  protection  of  St.  Theodore,  upon  other 
and  far  distant  seas.  But  all  that  was  known 
was  the  fact  of  her  departure;  and  like  every 
event  of  joy  or  sorrow  of  terrestrial  occurrence, 
when  wondered  at  a  little  time,  it  was  seemingly 
tmcared  for  and  forgotten. 

"Now  Heaven  grant  that  my  learned   cousin 
be  not  fearful  of  crossing  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  to- 
14 


158  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

night!"  said  the  vivacious  heiress  of  Monforti,  as 
she  encountered  Giovanni  in  the  corridor. 

"And  why  should  my  fair  Ellena  dream  of 
such  a  catastrophe  7  "  inquired  the  youth. 

"  For  want  of  any  more  probable  way  of  ac- 
counting for  thy  sober  visage,"  she  replied,  in  a 
rallying  tone. 

"  Thou  art  ever  thus  sportive,  car  a"  he  re- 
turned, observing  her  with  interest ;  "Felice  voi  !  " 
"  Come  to  the  saloon,  after  consulting  yon  rever- 
end oracle,  Giovanni,  and  perchance  my  guests 
or  poor  self  can  cheer  even  thee." 

He  smiled  his  thanks,  and  passing  on,  entered 
the  cabinet  of  Father  Teodoro. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  priest,  after  greeting  his 
visitor,  "  knowest  thou  how  it  fares  with  Fosca- 
rini  now  1 " 

"  The  fever  has  left  him,  I  am  told,"  answered 
Giovanni. 

"  Grazie  a  Deo  !  "  ejaculated  the  old  man,  as 
he  drew  aside  the  heavy  folds  of  a  curtain,  and 
admitted  the  chastened  light  and  soothing  breeze 
of  even-time  into  the  apartment;  "but  Giovanni, 
thou  art  ill,"  he  continued,  regarding  the  flushed 
countenance  and  troubled  expression  of  his  young 
friend ;  "  beware  that  thou  art  not  added  to  the 
list." 

"  Only  fatigued.  If  I  remember  right,  we 
were  speaking  yesterday  of  sympathy.  Father, 
I  have  thought  much,  in  the  night-watches,  of 
thy  theory.  One  is  not  to  expect  to  be  under- 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  ^59 

stood  by  the  multitude ;  some  will  be  even  misin- 
terpreted by  the  few,  thou  sayest.  I  know  how 
different  thou  art  from  thy  brethren  in  many 
things,  and  therefore  will  I  venture  a  question  : 
Is  what  is  called  love-at-first-sight,  one  of  the 
dreams  thou  spakest  of?" 

"  What  is  thus  called,  Giovanni,  is  often  but  a 
fancy." 

"  But  is  there  a  foundation  for  such  an  experi- 
ence in  the  soul?  " 

"  My  son,  there  is  deep  affinity  between  spirits, 
even  when  humanly  embodied.  When  two 
beings  thus  pre-united  meet  on  earth,  they  spon- 
taneously recognize  their  unity ;  and  this  is  love 
in  its  purity  and  power." 

"  And,  father,  suppose,  from  the  intervention 
of  circumstances,  they  follow  not  out  the  intima- 
tion ;  suppose  they  remain  disunited,  dissev- 
ered?" 

"They  irretrievably  wrong  themselves;  their 
being  wants  completeness;  there  remains  a  void 
in  their  bosoms ;  wealth  and  honors  may  occupy, 
qualified  affection  amuse,  but  neither  can  satisfy 
them." 

"  But,  father,  are  the  indications  sure?" 

"  Infallible  to  the  unperverted ;  not  indistinct  to 
any  who  can  feel  or  will  think." 

Filled  as  was  the  breast  of  Deltini  with  the 
spirit  of  meditation,  and  necessary  as  repose  had 
become  to  his  languid  though  fevered  frame,  he 
was  mindful  of  his  cousin's  invitation,  and 


160  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

wished  not  to  leave  her  palace  without  indicating 
at  least  his  remembrance  of  her  wishes.  Yet 
was  he  greatly  indisposed  for  general  society, 
and  hoped,  by  stealing  in  at  a  side  door,  to  hold 
a  moment's  parley  with  her,  and  retire.  The  first 
sound  which  struck  his  ear,  as  he  entered  unob- 
served, was  his  father's  voice.  He  hesitated,  and 
saw  that  a  group,  among  which  he  recognized  a 
brother  of  the  sick  Foscarini,  and  several  senators, 
were  engaged  in  a  conference  of  great  apparent 
interest.  "  Yes,  signer,"  said  the  elder  Deltini, 
addressing  the  latter  personage,  "  Giacomo's  con- 
valescence is  truly  a  subject  of  congratulation 
among  all  who  hold  Venice  dear.  The  time  is 
coming  when  she  will  need  the  unimpaired 
energy  of  all  her  children.  In  the  strength  of  her 
nobility  at  home,  we  are  to  trust,  and  not  in  the 
extent  of  her  external  possessions.  With  more 
care  than  ever  should  we  consolidate  the  patri- 
cian power.  I  am  already  negociating  an  alli- 
ance for  Giovanni,  which  even  thou,  signor,  wilt 
deem  no  small  effort  of  state  policy." 

The  individual  most  interested  in  this  newly- 
broached  design,  paused  only  to  note  the  compla- 
cency and  determination  with  which  the  duty  of 
the  parent  was  thus  lost  in  that  of  the  patriot, 
and  then  hastened  to  cool  his  throbbing  temples 
in  the  night  air,  and  still,  if  possible,  the  tumult 
in  his  bosom.  * 

The  gray  light  of  early  morning  revealed 
the  kneeling  figure  of  an  aged  servant  of  the 


THE  SAD  BIRD.  161 

cross,  with  his  face  buried  in  the  drapery  of  a 
couch,  on  which  one,  stricken  with  disease,  was 
restlessly  extended,  in  the  chamber  of  a  Venetian 
palace.  "It  is  as  I  feared,"  said  the  priest, 
rising.  "Giovanni,  thou  hast  the  infection  !" 

"Art  thou  still  beside  me,  father?" 

"Yes,  my  son,  and  if  earnest  prayers  can  carry 
thee  safely  through  this  trial,  thou  art  safe." 

"  Desire  it  not,  father,  as  thou  lovest  me. 
Hear  me  ere  this  heated  brain  refuse  its  just 
office.  Life  is  not  desirable  to  Giovanni  Deltini. 
I  love ;  but  days,  weeks,  months  have  past,  and 
these  eyes  have  not  beheld  the  only  being  they 
can  fondly  contemplate.  The  weariness  of  dis- 
appointment has  induced  this  malady.  The 
same  hour  that  revealed  to  me  the  justice  of  my 
passion,  assured  me  it  had  been  cherished  in  vain. 
Thy  blessing  and  thy  prayers,  father,  before  this 
creeping  lethargy  overpowers  me.  I  have  thus 
spoken,  that  one  may  shed  a  tear  over  the  tomb 
of  the  Deltinis  for  its  new  occupant,  who  know- 
eth  something  of  the  woes  which  reconcile  him 
to  death." 

From  the  deep  sleep  that  succeeded  the  attack 
of  this  peculiar  Levantine  epidemic,  the  sole  heir 
of  the  honors  and  wealth  of  the  Deltini  family 
awoke  with  a  degree  of  physical  energy,  and  an 
absence  of  unfavorable  symptoms,  which  war- 
ranted the  medical  attendants  in  asserting  that  the 
prospect  of  his  recovery  was  flattering.  Their 
14* 


162  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

disappointment,  however,  was  extreme,  at  find- 
ing no  apparent  improvement,  after  the  lapse  of 
several  hours.  The  recurrence  of  strength  and 
expressiveness,  which  had  occurred  at  a  similar 
stage  in  other  instances,  appeared  not  in  this. 
Giovanni,  indeed,  gave  evidence  of  consciousness, 
but  the  morbid  apathy  of  sickness  was  alarming- 
ly obvious. — Meantime  the  sudden  illness  of  his 
child,  the  alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  the  mourn- 
ful tone  of  the  invalid's  ravings,  and  the  settled 
indifference  to  life  which  he  evinced  in  lucid  in- 
tervals— -the  course  of  the  malady — the  expected 
catastrophe — ali  combined  to  work  a  revolution 
in  the  father's  heart.  He  knew  his  son  for  the 
first  time.  He  heard  from  Father  Teodoro  the 
last  rational  words  he  had  uttered,  and  solemnly 
pledged  himself  to  consult  only  the  peace  of  his 
child,  should  he  recover.  Of  this,  however, 
there  seemed  less  and  less  probability.  And  the 
afternoon  of  the  third  day  since  the  cessation  of 
the  fever,  found  the  inmates  of  the  palace  in  the 
same  state  of  quiet  but  deep  despondency.  The 
affectionate  padre  was  in  attendance  while  Count 
Deltini  slept.  He  had  musingly  watched,  for  an 
hour,  the  play  of  the  chequered  light  upon  the 
variegated  and  rnarble-like  floor,  when  the  voice 
of  Pietro  caused  him  to  raise  his  head.  "Fa- 
ther," said  the  old  servant,  "  there  is  a  youth  in 
the  hall — a  Paduan,  I  think— who  would  fain 
look  upon  the  face  of  our  young  master.  Vainly 


THE   SAD  BIRD.  163 

have  I  told  him  that  he  is  nigh  unto  death,  and 
cannot  be  seen.  He  demands  admittance  as  a 
near  friend  of  Signer  Giovanni." 

"It  matters  little,"  replied  the  priest;  the  poor 
youth  will  soon  be  beyond  the  reach  of  disturb- 
ance. Let  the  Paduan  enter." 

So  intent  was  the  afflicted  confessor  upon  his 
own  thoughts,  that  he  was  again  lost  in  reverie 
in  the  lapse  of  a  few  moments,  so  that  the  visi- 
tor's step  first  aroused  him  to  a  consciousness  of 
his  presence.  Notwithstanding  the  obscurity  of' 
the  apartment,  and  the  sadness  of  his  spirit,  the 
priest  was  struck  with  the  gracefulness  of  the 
stranger's  mien,  and  the  delicate  contour  of  his 
form.  He  bowed  as  the  father  turned  toward  him, 
but  without  doffing  the  cap  of  black  velvet  which 
shaded  his  face.  Stealing,  with  an  easy  but  sub- 
dued air,  around  the  head  of  the  couch,  and 
taking  a  taper  from  the  table,  he  slipped  upon  it  a 
jewelled  ring,  and  gently  separating  the  curtains, 
passed  it  through  upon  the  pillow,  directly  before 
the  eyes  of  the  sick  man.  The  alarmed  father 
had  moved  forward  to  check  the  proceeding,  but 
was  startled  by  a  sudden  movement  and  excla- 
mation ;  and  with  no  little  surprise  beheld  his 
patient  raise  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  glance 
inquiringly  about  the  apartment. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  my  son,  thou  appearest 
somewhat  like  thyself;  what  dost  thou  desire?" 

"  Father,  are  we  alone?" 


164  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  There  is  a  young  man  present,  one  of  thy 
Paduan  friends;  but  thou  art  not  able  to  con- 


verse 


"Good  father,  leave  us,  for  a  moment." 
His  careful  and  devoted  friend  hesitated ;  but 
re-assured  by  the  bright  gleam  of  intelligence  visi- 
ble in  his  eye,  he  entered  an  adjoining  oratory, 
there  to  invoke  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon  the 
reviving  son  of  his  adoption. 

The  sound  of  the  count's  earnest  voice  recalled 
him  to  the  sick.  room.  And  there  a  scene  present- 
ed itself,  which  would  have  been  rife  with  inspi- 
ration to  a  true  votary  of  the  rainbow  art.  The 
invalid  was  in  a  half-sitting  posture,  his  cheek 
slightly  colored,  and  his  brilliant  eye  bent  upon 
the  rich  tresses  of  one  who  kneeled  beside  the 
couch.  His  father  stood  by,  glancing  benig- 
nantly  from  one  to  the  other  figure.  Upon  the 
damask  covering  lay  the  taper,  upon  which  glis- 
tened the  signet  ring  of  the  Deltinis.  And  the 
flush  of  sunset  threw  over  the  dark  furniture,  rich 
paintings,  and  polished  floor,  a  variety  of  mel- 
lowed tints,  which  enhanced  without  generalizing 
the  combined  eflect.  The  "Sad  Bird  of  the 
Adriatic"  had  folded  her  wings  in  despair,  and 
brooded  over  her  desolate  nest.  The  mother 
whose  love  sustained  her  was  no  more ;  and  ere 
she  followed  her  to  her  long  rest,  she  went  forth 
to  behold  once  again  the  being  of  her  dreams. 
Hoping  to  accomplish  her  object  without  being 


THE   SAD  BIRD. 


165 


known,  she  sought  him.  in  disguise,  in  the  public 
places  of  the  city  ;  but  learning  his  sickness,  and 
not  doubting  its  fatal  issue,  she  hastened  to  as- 
sure him  how  speedy  would  be  their  reunion. 
She  had  proved  an  angel  of  mercy.  Count  Del- 
tini  had  joined  the  hands  of  the  lovers.  And  on 
the  succeeding  moment  of  delight,  the  priest  had 
intruded.  "  It  is  a  vision  !  "  he  exclaimed — ':  the 
daughter  of  my  poor  sister,  and  the  son  of  my 
adoption  !  "  He  read  an  explanation  in  their 
eyes.  "  My  children,"  he  continued,  "  my 
prayers  are  granted,  but  no  part  was  allotted  me 
in  their  fulfilment." 

"  Father,  thou  errest,"  exclaimed  Giovanni  ; 
t:  thy  lecture  on  the  affinity  of  spirit  revealed  to 
me  my  love," 

"And,  uncle,"  said  Camilla,  "  at  the  name  of 
Father  Teodoro,  I  slipped  the  blind  of  my 
gondola." 

It  was  the  unhappiness  of  Giovanni  to  behold, 
and  of  his  immediate  descendants  more  nearly  to 
realize  the  wane  of  Venetian  glory.  Yet  many  of 
his  brother  patricians,  with  less  than  his  patriotic 
sensibility,  as  they  walked  away  the  night  hours 
in  their  gorgeous  halls,  lamenting  the  vain  sacri- 
fice of  their  most  individual  prerogatives  to  ambi- 
tious policy,  ardently  longed  for  the  lot  of  Deltini ; 
for  the  grief  of  the  citizen  was  neutralized  by  the 
happiness  of  the  man  ; — and  many  an  hour  of  joy 
was  won  to  him  by  the  melody  and  companion-, 
ship  of  the  then  blithe  Bird  of  the  Adriatic, 


THE   ROSE-COLORED   PACKET. 


'  Whom  he  had  sensibility  to  love, 
Ambition  to  attempt,  and  skill  to  win." 


SOOTHINGLY  played  the  sunset  breeze  over  the 
sleeping  sea,  laden  with  the  perfume  from  the 
orange  groves  of  Genoa.  As  the  mellow  light 
gilded  the  palace-roofs  and  domes  of  the  old  city, 
its  aspect,  to  the  imaginative  spectator  who  gazed 
distantly  from  the  ocean,  was  not  unlike  an  an- 
cient and  splendid  amphitheatre,  with  golden 
battlements,  an  azure  canopy,  and  an  arena  of 
polished  emerald.  The  quiet  waters  of  the  bay 
wore  an  air  of  unwonted  solitude;  and  but  a  sin- 
gle vessel  was  moored  in  a  position  which  in- 
dicated a  speedy  departure.  This  was  a  brigan- 
tine,  of  beautiful  proportions — evidently  one  of 
the  comparatively  small,  but  singularly  efficient 
craft,  which  supplied  Britain  with  the  finer  fabrics 
of  southern  Europe.  If  the  eye  lingered  uncon- 
sciously upon  the  symmetrical  exterior  of  the 
"  Sea-Nymph,"  a  glance  at  her  occupants  and 
equipments  could  not  but  speedily  yield  to  a  gaze 


168  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

of  earnestness  and  pleasure.  The  most  promi- 
nent figure  discernible  upon  her  deck,  was  that 
of  a  young  man  clad  in  mariner's  vestments,  the 
quality  of  which  indicated  superiority  of  rank 
not  more  distinctly  than  did  their  perfect  adapta- 
tion serve  to  discover  superiority  of  form  and 
strength.  There  was  enough  in  the  stranger's 
appearance  to  denote  his  English  origin  ;  but 
other  characteristics  as  readily  suggested  to  an 
intelligent  observer,  that  circumstances  of  birth 
or  experience  had  modified  the  peculiarities  so 
obvious  in  the  sons  of  the  north.  A  certain 
nervousness  of  temperament  and  latent  warmth 
of  feeling,  were  discoverable  in  the  natural  lan- 
guage of  the  seaman;  and  as  the  light  puffs  of 
air,  ever  and  anon,  threw  back  the  side-locks  from 
his  uncovered  head,  the  disciple  of  a  beautiful 
but  misinterpreted  science  would  have  noticed 
the  cause  of  the  bland  complacency  which  rested 
on  his  countenance,  as  his  eye  roved  over  the 
surrounding  scene.  The  breadth  of  the  brow 
indicated  a  large  endowment  of  ideality,  to  the 
delight  of  which  that  fairy-like  picture  was  now 
silently  ministering.  The-  mother  of  Captain 
Roberto  was  a  native  of  Spain  ;  and  neither  the 
qualities  of  his  Albion  father,  which  he  largely 
inherited,  nor  a  boyhood  spent  amid  the  fogs  of 
the  island,  had  sufficed  to  eradicate  the  southern 
leaven  from  his  nature.  Earlier,  by  several 
years,  than  ordinary  prudence  would  warrant,  he 
had  been  entrusted  with  a  large  interest  in  the 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  PACKET.  Jgg 

trade  in  which  he  was  then  engaged.  For  him, 
it  had  many  and  peculiar  charms.  His  latent 
affinity  with  the  region  of  his  mother's  nativity 
found  free  scope  during  his  frequent  sojourns  in 
the  cities  and  campagna  of  the  Mediterranean 
coast ;  and  in  every  port  there  were  those  who 
welcomed  the  "  Sea-Nymph "  and  her  gallant 
commander,  with  a  greeting  such  as  seldom  cheers 
the  arrival  of  foreign  merchantmen. 

"I  think  the  lad  has  started,  yonder,"  said  the 
captain. 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  replied  his  second  in  command, 
turning  his  eye  towards  the  shipping. 

"  A  slacker  boy  than  Zed  would  have  lingered 
longer  on  his  last  land  errand." 

In  a  few  moments  the  boat,  propelled  gently 
on  by  the  skilful  arm  of  the  young  sailor,  touched 
the  vessel's  side,  and  he  stood,  hat  in  hand,  be- 
fore his  commander. 

"  All 's  right,"  observed  that  functionary,  tak- 
ing a  small  file  of  papers  from  the  boy,  and  has- 
tily glancing  at  their  contents;  "and  had  ye 
brought  a  good  breeze  with  ye,  Zed,  we  would 
see  how  much  nearer  the  Straits  the  dawn  would 
find  us." 

"  Your  honor  knows  that  Zed  would  ever  be 
the  bearer  of  pleasant  things ;"  and  drawing  from 
his  vest  a  small  pink  packet,  he  presented  it, 
with  unusual  obeisance,  whereby — as  the  quick 
eye  of  Roberto  was  not  slow  to  detect — the  lad 
15 


170  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

hoped  to  conceal  the  arch  smile  that  was  playing 
on  his  lip. 

"  Whence  this  1"  exclaimed  the  captain,  with 
an  air  of  surprise. 

"  It  was  left  at  the  consignee's,  an  hour  since, 
sir ;"  and  so  saying,  he  retreated  among  his 
messmates. 

Nicholas  Vanblunt,  the  mate  of  the  "  Sea- 
Nymph,"  possessed  the  numerous  solid  excellen- 
cies which  characterized  his  Dutch  progenitors. 
Indeed,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  prudent 
partners  of  Roberto  had  connived  to  secure  the 
old  man  the  berth  he  enjoyed — deeming  his  cau- 
tion and  judicious  timidity  well  fitted  to  neutral- 
ize the  action  of  the  captain's  more  mercurial 
nature ;  and  they  were  wont,  in  private  converse, 
to  yclep  Vanblunt  the  ballast  of  their  enterprises, 
and  Roberto  the  sails  ; — the  one  ever  advocating 
steadiness,  and  preferring  perfect  immobility  to 
the  least  risk ;  the  other  striving  to  catch  every 
breeze  of  fortune,  and  carry  some  canvass  even 
in  a  tempest.  One  quickening  impulse,  however, 
occasionally  wakened  into  temporary  vivacity 
the  energies  of  Nicholas;  this  was  that  restless 
appetite,  of  mother  Eve  memory,  denominated 
curiosity;  and,  had  one  seen  the  start  and  the 
gaze,  which  the  phenomenon  of  the  rose-colored 
packet  gave  rise  to,  he  would  have  thought  that 
the  Netherlands  had  suddenly  become  visible 
over  the  bow  of  the  brigantine.  The  effect 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  PACKET.  \fl 

which  the  epistle  produced  upon  the  demeanor  of 
Roberto,  was  well  calculated  still  farther  to  ex- 
cite the  inquisitive  spirit  of  his  mate.  He  dwelt 
long  and  curiously  upon  the  superscription ;  and 
the  listless  manner  in  which  he  broke  the  seal, 
was  strongly  contrasted  with  the  expression  of 
intense  interest  which  its  contents  awakened. 
He  read  ;  then  walked  the  deck  and  read  again  ; 
now  lie  turned  his  eyes  intently  upon  some  in- 
land object,  and  now  surveyed,  with  anxious  cir- 
cumspection, the  hues  of  the  horizon  ;  he  smiled 
as  the  breeze  evidently  freshened,  and  glanced 
complacently  over  the  garniture  of  his  vessel ; 
then  resuming  his  walk,  he  hummed  musingly  a 
Spanish  air,  till  the  flutter  of  the  paper  seemed 
to  awaken  his  mind  from  its  abstraction ;  once 
again  he  read,  then  carefully  refolding  and  de- 
positing it  in  his  bosom,  he  murmured,  yet  in  a 
tone  of  resolution — "  It  shall  be  done  !  " 

"What,  sir?"  ejaculated  the  impatient  Nich- 
olas, at  his  elbow. 

"  A  trifle,  in  the  way  of  business  on  shore. 
Harkee,  Mr.  Vanblunt,  send  Zed,  with  the  small 
boat  and  two  lads,  alongside ;  loosen  the  sheets 
and  make  all  ready ;  in  five  minutes  after  my 
return,  we  must  be  off." 

Roberto  hastened  to  the  cabin  ;  and  Nicholas, 
having  given  orders  agreeable  to  his  instructions, 
returned  to  his  post,  determined,  on  the  captain's 
re-appearance,  to  learn  the  occasion  of  these  un- 
expected movements. 


172  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  Any  news  of  import  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  Mr.  Vanblunt,  not  a  word." 

"Are  the  invoices  all  on  board,  sir?" 

"  Yes ;  you  can  examine  them  below." 

"  But,  captain  " 

"What?"  stopping  and  looking  up,  as  he  de- 
scended the  vessel's  side. 

"  The — the  rose-colored  packet,  sir?" 

"  Oh  !  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Do,  sir,"  winningly  exclaimed  Nicholas,  lean- 
ing over  in  fond  expectation. 

"  On  my  return,"  dryly  added  Roberto,  as  he 
dropped  into  the  boat,  and,  in  an  urgent  though 
low  tone,  bade  the  oarsmen  "  pull  away."  Before 
the  disappointed  mate  could  rally  from  his  dis- 
comfiture, their  long  and  vigorous  strokes  had 
borne  their  commander  to  a  distance  which  pre- 
cluded any  but  a  vociferous  renewal  of  the 
interview. 

The  business  which  thus  unexpectedly  called 
on  shore  the  captain  of  the  "Sea-Nymph,"  was 
of  that  species  with  regard  to  which  experience 
had  taught  him  it  was  well  to  postpone  consult- 
ing his  reflecting  brother  officer.  He  made  it  a 
rule,  indeed,  to  take  counsel  with  that  worthy  on 
all  occasions  of  mutual  concernment;  but  chose 
to  exercise  his  private  judgment  in  fixing  the 
time  for  presenting  certain  subjects  to  the  vete- 
ran's consideration — having  often  found  his  opin- 
ion, on  questions  of  expediency,  less  troublesome 
after  than  before  the  said  questions  were  experi- 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  PACKET.  173 

mentally  settled.  Accordingly,  he  already  antici- 
pated many  long  discussions  with  Nicholas, 
relative  to  the  rose-colored  packet,  but  not  till  his 
own  view  of  the  matter  had  been  practically 
adopted. 

Leaving  the  anxious  Hollander  to  superintend 
the  preparations  for  the  speedy  departure  of  the 
brigantine,  let  us  follow  her  small  boat  and  learn 
what  is  writ  on  the  rosy  scroll,  against  which  the 
Anglo-Spaniard's  noble  heart  is  beating  with  be- 
nevolent expectancy.  The  delicacy  of  the  char- 
acters betray  the  hand  of  woman ;  and  the 
elegant  Italian,  in  which  the  epistle  is  couched, 
evince  more  than  ordinary  cultivation.  In  homely 
English,  it  would  read  thus  : 

"  To  the  captain  of  the  Sea-Nymph  : 

"  The  writer  of  this  has  been,  almost  from  her 
earliest  recollection,  a  denizen  of  the  convent  of 
St.  Agatha.  She  has  gazed  often  from  the  tower 
above,  forth  upon  the  beautiful  city,  and  out  upon 
the  bright  sea ;  she  has  heard  the  festal  cries  of 
the  Genoese,  and  the  song  of  the  mariners  from 
the  bay;  she  has  noted  the  glad  faces  of  the 
young  gentry  and  the  happy  countenances  of  the 
peasants,  as  they  have  passed  along  the  adjacent 
road ;  and  these  things  have  awakened  in  her 
soul  the  desire  of  freedom.  The  thought  has 
been  cherished  till  it  has  become  a  passion  and 
a  necessity.  She  has  read  much  of  the  honor 
and  generosity  of  Englishmen.  Thrice  has  she 
15* 


174  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

marked  thy  distant  vessel ;  but,  until  this  hour, 
knew  not  by  what  title  to  address  thee.  She 
now  appeals  to  the  captain  of  the  Sea-Nymph  for 
deliverance  and  protection.  Three  hours  after 
vespers,  a  bine  cord  will  be  dropped  from  the 
third  window  of  the  farther  wing  of  the  convent. 
Wilt  thou  be  there  to  rescue  an  involuntary  nun? 
and  shall  the  Sea-Nymph  bear  her  to  the  free 
shores,  of  England?  In  nomine  Dei  Patri,  et 
Filii,  et  Spiritus  Sancti,  thou  art  invoked  to  com- 
passionate VIOLA  DONATELLI.^ 

The  long,  delicious  twilight,  peculiar  to  south- 
ern latitudes,  was  fast  yielding  to  the  deeper 
shades  and  more  solemn  effulgence  of  night. 
The  lovely  daughters  of  Genoa  again  welcomed 
their  evening  pastimes.  The  cheerful  hum  of  the 
conversazione,  the  rich  music  of  Italian  song,  and 
even  the  low  notes  of  a  guitar,  ever  and  anon 
echoed  along  the  terrace-groves,  or  stole  out  from 
among  the  garden-shrubbery  of  the  street  of 
palaces.  A  day  of  uncommon  sultriness  had  ren- 
dered the  cool  and  tranquil  even-time  doubly 
grateful.  Yet  the  new-born  breeze,  sweetly 
musical  as  it  was  within  the  city  and  by  the  sea- 
side, stirred,  with  something  of  wildness,  amid 
the  rank  grass  that  clustered  about  the  founda- 
tion of  a  massive  pile  which  arose  loftily,  beyond 
the  suburbs.  Its  anterior  wall  cast  a  gigantic 
shadow  over  the  solitary  fields ;  and  nought  but 
the  white  habiliments  would  have  betrayed  a 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  PACKET.  175 

figure,  which,  in  a  crouching  attitude,  was  slowly 
following  the  line  of  its  base.  Suddenly  it 
seemed  to  spring  forward,  and  presently  the 
gleam  of  a  lantern  revealed  the  captain  of  the 
"  Sea-Nymph"  hastening  towards  Zed,  who  was 
drawing  from  among  the  vines  the  tesselated  ex- 
tremity of  a  silken  rope.  To  this,  a  light  but 
strong  ladder  of  cordage  was  attached  and  drawn 
upward.  Roberto  soon  felt  the  cords  tremble  in 
his  grasp,  as  he  endeavored  to  steady  them. 
"Corragio!"  he  whispered,  as  a  light  female 
form  dropped  gently  among  the  weeds  at  his  feet, 
and  knelt  down,  with  folded  arms  and  an  upward 
gaze,  as  if  witless  of  his  presence.  He  quietly 
raised  the  lantern,  and  its  feeble  rays  fell  on  fea- 
tures of  that  indescribable  saint-like  beauty  with 
which  the  traveller  occasionally  meets,  among  the 
rcligieuse  of  the  continent.  The  freshness  of 
youth  combined  with  the  sacred  ardor  of  devo- 
tion to  vivify  their  expression,  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  occasion  tended  to  deepen  the 
impression  which  the  vision — for  such  it  seemed 
— made  upon  the  ardent  mind  of  the  young 
seaman.  He  inwardly  rejoiced,  yet  with  some- 
thing of  awe,  that  the  enterprise  was  undertaken, 
and  felt  nerved  for  its  fulfilment,  Zed  suddenly 
pointed  to  the  ladder,  and  to  his  dismay,  the 
captain  beheld  another  and  seemingly  decrepit 
female  slowly  descending.  His  exclamation  re- 
called the  nun  from  her  reverie.  Rising,  she 


176  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

anxiously  surveyed  the  countenance  of  Roberto  ; 
then  softly  murmured — "  Viola  confides  in  one 
above  and  thee.  Fear  not;  yonder  comes  the 
only  other  being  whom  I  can  call  friend  on  earth; 
finding  me  resolute,  she  has  determined  to  accom- 
pany me." 

Roberto  was  sadly  perplexed  at  this  infor- 
mation ;  but  his  cogitations  on  the  subject  were 
quickly  interrupted  by  a  cry  of  alarm,  and 
the  next  moment  the  unfortunate  donna  fell 
groaning  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  Snatching  a 
cloak  from  the  arms  of  Zed,  he  threw  it  around 
the  fair  being  beside  him,  and  lifting  her  on  his 
shoulder,  ran  with  wonderful  rapidity,  followed 
by  the  sailor-boy.  The  cries  of  the  fallen  dame 
echoed  through  the  solitude.  Roberto  pressed 
onward  in  silence,  nor  paused  till  he  reached  the 
last  point  whence  the  convent  was  discernible ; 
then  gazing  momentarily  back,  he  beheld  lights 
gleaming  from  twenty  windows,  and  fancied  the 
cries  of  pursuers,  borne  on  the  rising  wind. 

Hadst  thou,  gentle  reader,  while  rusticating,  at 
a  subsequent  period,  at  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
villages  in  the  vicinity  of  London,  unexpectedly 
entered  the  drawing-room  of  the  accomplished 
Madame  Clarissa  Roberto,  thou  wouldst  have 
seen,  among  that  lady's  fair-haired  and  blue-eyed 
daughters,  a  flower  not  less  pleasing  to  contem- 
plate, though  evidently  exotic.  But  it  would  be 


THE   ROSE-COLORED  PACKET.  177 

only  by  patient  attention,  that,  in  the  cheerful 
and  womanly  beauty  of  the  stranger,  thou  couldst 
discover  any  especial  semblance  to  the  lovely 
apostate  who,  three  years  before,  prayed  for  for- 
giveness beneath  the  walls  of  St.  Agatha.  Yet 
were  it  thy  privilege  to  linger  beside  her — to 
mark  the  sweet  naivete  with  which  she  uttered 
the  accents  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  kindle  her  ex- 
pressiveness by  appeals  to  her  enthusiasm,  or 
drink  the  melody  of  her  song ;  when  the  wand  of 
the  enchanter  was  no  longer  visibly  swayed,  thou 
wouldst  learn,  by  the  rapid  flight  of  time  and  the 
lingering  of  the  soul's  glow,  that  thou  hadst  been 
within  the  magic  circle  of  Italian  loveliness. 
Who  can  wonder,  then,  that  Madame  Clarissa's 
noble  nephew,  on  every  return  voyage,  tarried  in 
the  noisy  metropolis  only  long  enough  to  take 
every  requisite  care  of  his  gallant  bark,  and  then 
hastened  to  practice  la  bella  lingua  Ilaliana  with 
his  charming  protege  ?  It  may  be  thought  singu- 
lar that  one  who  so  narrowly  escaped  the  conse- 
quences of  a  vow,  should  ever  again  voluntarily 
assume  such  a  responsibility.  Yet,  if  the  records 
of  the  parish  say  truly,  not  many  years  since, 
Viola  Donatelli  did  religiously  promise,  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  this  our  world,  to  "  love, 
honor  and  obey"  Francisco  Roberto. 

Prosperity  has  followed  the  captain  of  the 
"  Sea-Nymph,"  and  that  title  is  displaced  by  a 
nobler ;  happiness  dwells  with  the  nun  of  St, 


178 


ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 


Agatha,  and  that  appellation  is  no  longer  hers. 
Yet,  often  do  their  wondering  children  look  up, 
from  the  sports  of  infancy,  to  mark  the  grateful 
tears  with  which  their  parents  speak  of  the  Rose- 
Colored  Packet. 


THE    FLORENTINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


'  Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?    Sweet  Valentine,  adieu  ! 
Wish  me  partaker  hi  thy  happiness 
When  thou  dost  meet  good  hap  ;  and,  in  thy  danger, 
If  ever  danger  do  environ  thcc, 
Commend  thy  grievanre  to  my  holy  prayers, 
For  I  will  be  thy  beadsman,  Valentine." 


"  LET  us  forth,  Anina,"  said  Antonio  to  his  betroth- 
ed, who  was  seated,  in  a  pensive  attitude,  near 
the  window,  and  feigning  to  watch  the  coming  on 
of  evening  over  the  sky,  though  the  tears  which 
filled  her  eyes  might  have  betrayed,  to  a  nearer 
observer,  that  the  object  of  her  vision  was  medi- 
tative and  within.- — "  Let  us  forth,  and  if  the  eve 
of  parting  cannot  be  joyous,  our  sadness  will  not 
be  increased  if  its  hours  be  passed  in  rambling 
where  we  have  been  wont,  at  this  very  hour,  to 
yield  up  our  spirits,  in  glad  unison,  to  the  blest 
influences  of  nature.  Let  me  once  more  renew 
the  brightest  associations  of  my  being,  in  behold- 
ing, with  the  clear  perception  of  expectant  separa- 


180  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

tion,  the  river's  bank,  whereon  I  vented,  in'  spor- 
tive glee,  the  gay  spirit  of  boyhood ;  the  square 
where,  with  the  music  of  the  Pergola  just  dying 
on  my  ear,  I  have  so  often  paused,  in  the  still 
air  of  midnight,  and  fancied  that  the  old  statues 
moved  in  the  gloom, — and  the  garden,  ay,  the 
garden-mount,  whence  we  have  gazed  beyond 
the  cypress  grove  and  the  river,  and  seen  the  sun 
go  down  behind  the  hills ;  in  these  scenes,  which 
I  am  so  soon  to  exchange  for  a  strange  country, 
let  us  linger  away  the  moments,  till  the  hour 
approaches  which  calls  me  from  Florence  and 
from  thee  ! " 

They  were  soon  threading  the  gaily-peopled 
walk  of  the  Cacine,  their  desultory  converse  or 
silent  musings  being,  ever  and  anon,  interrupted 
by  the  passing  salutation  of  numerous  acquain- 
tances. Occasionally,  too,  a  friend,  mindful  of 
Antonio's  approaching  departure,  would  leave  the 
party  whose  companionship  was  enlivening  the 
evening  promenade,  accompany  them  for  a  space, 
and  then,  with  a  buona  sera,  uttered  with  more 
than  usual  tenderness,  and  that  expressive  though 
silent  indication  of  delicate  sympathy  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  natural  language  of  the  Tuscans, 
glide  away  from  the  thoughtful  pair.  They  ex- 
perienced a  sensation  of  relief  when  the  shades 
of  evening  advanced,  and  the  walk  became  more 
solitary.  At  that  season,  even  the  kindly  words 
of  friendship  disturbed  rather  than  solaced.  The 
moonlight  fell  in  soothing  luxuriance  upon  ]the 


THE  FLORENTINE.  jgj 

almost  inaudible  ripple  of  the  Arno,  as  they  ap- 
proached one  of  the  bridges  which  span  its  waters. 
There  are  memorable  instances  of  effect  produced 
by  the  combination  and  mutual  influence  of  na- 
ture and  art.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  imagina- 
ble now,  familiar  though  it  was,  arrested  the 
attention  of  Anina  and  her  companion.  The 
bridge  of  Santa  Trinita,  in  the  light  which  now 
revealed  it,  seemed  suspended  by  the  spell  of 
fancy,  rather  than  supported  by  deeply  laid  pillars 
and  massive  workmanship.  So  symmetrically 
and  gracefully  are  hung  its  arches,  that  the  idea 
of  weight  is  banished  from  the  mind  of  the  spec- 
tator. Its  aerial  form,  antiquated  hue,  and  white 
escutcheons,  about  which  the  weeds  of  age  are 
clustered,  form  an  image  that  serves  admirably 
to  relieve  the  aspect  of  the  heavier  architecture 
around. 

They  paused,  and,  leaning  upon  the  parapet, 
Anina  broke  the  silence  which  they  had  almost 
involuntarily  suffered  to  prevail.  "I  know  not 
how  it  is,  Antonio,  but  this  spot  seems  singularly 
associated  with  the  prominent  shades  of  my  des- 
tiny. Do  you  remember  the  story  my  old  nurse 
tells?  One  evening  she  was  conveying  me  home 
from  the  Porta  Fedriano,  where  we  had  been  to 
see  the  cavalcade  of  the  Duke ;  we  did  not  leave 
the  house  of  Signor  Andrea,  from  the  window  of 
which  we  had  seen  the  pageant,  until  the  crowd 
had  quite  dispersed.  Yet  the  Lung'  Arno  was 
quite  thronged,  and  several  gentlemen  on  horse- 
16 


182  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

back  were  reining  in  their  steeds  here  upon  the 
bridge,  and  endeavoring  to  make  their  way  harm- 
lessly through  the  throng.  Poor  Bianca  was 
hurrying  on  to  avoid  danger — when  I  persisted 
in  stopping  to  drop  a  crazia  into  the  old  poverino's 
hat.  Meantime  the  tumult  increased ;  a  carriage, 
in  addition  to  the  crowd,  now  blocked  up  the  way ; 
the  horses  became  more  restive,  and  volumes  of 
sparks  flashed  from  the  polished  flags  beneath 
their  feet.  Bianca,  murmuring  our  old  proverb, 
uomini  sopra  cavalli,  sepolti  sono  aperti*  drew  me 
from  the  expectant  beggar,  and  was  hastily  carry- 
ing me  forward,  when  the  carriage  started,  and 
the  Count  P.'s  horse,  notwithstanding  the  curb, 
sprang  after  it,  and  threw  Bianca  and  her  unruly 
burden  upon  the  pavement.  The  Count  instantly 
dismounted,  and  leaving  his  horse  with  a  groom, 
hastened  toward  me.  Bianca  was  more  alarmed 
than  injured ;  but  I  was  taken  up  insensible.  At 
this  sight  he  seemed  deeply  distressed,  and  taking 
me  in  his  arms,  bore  me  directly  to  the  Caffe,  di 
Colonna.  The  restoratives  applied  restored  me  ; 
and,  to  the  relief  of  the  Count,  I  was  soon  on 
my  way  home,  forgetting,  in  contemplating  the 
comfits  he  had  given  me,  the  slight  contusion 
which  the  accident  had  occasioned.  You  know 
the  consequence  of  this  event — how  the  kind- 
hearted  man  visited  us  the  next  day,  and  through 


*  "  When  men  are  on  horseback,  the  graves  are  opened  " — alluding 
to  the  liability  to  accident  incident  to  the  smooth  pavement  of  the  city. 


THE  FLORENTINE. 


183 


his  influence  with  the  Duke,  obtained  for  my 
brother  the  office  which  has  since  so  comfortably 
supported  us.  Nor  is  this  all,  my  Tonino;  here, 
on  this  bridge,  at  such  an  hour"- 

"  Were  our  vows  first  plighted  !  " — exclaimed 
Antonio  ;  "  and,  O  Anina,  let  the  memory  of  all 
we  are  to  each  other  come  over  us  anew,  now 
that  from  this  green  spot  of  life  we  gaze  over  the 
desert  of  absence.  Strange !  alas,  how  strange, 
that  necessity  thus  forces  me  forth  from  my 
home ;  and  such  a  home !  Before  I  knew  thee, 
Anina,  I  knew  not  myself.  The  external,  the 
exciting,  the  whirl  of  passion — this  was  what  I 
called  life.  The  fountains  around  me  were  per- 
verted by  the  lips  they  would  have  refreshed. 
Nature  ! — her  voice  was  lost.  Music  ! — I  loved 
only  her  most  tragic  inspiration  ;  the  pathos — the 
soft,  stealing  melody  which  delights  me  now, 
then  but  irritated  and  inflamed.  I  was  a  wan- 
derer in  a  wild  scene,  such  as  Salvator  loved  to 
depict ;  a  light  step  aroused  me — I  looked  up — 
and  in  the  light  of  thine  eye  a  new  world  opened  ; 
— the  peaceful  yet  deep  sense  of  joy  which  comes 
over  the  soul  when  pondering  on  one  of  the  Ma- 
donnas of  Raffaelo,  played  around  my  heart,  and 
threw  the  rosy  quiet  of  a  summer  evening  over 
the  restless  deep  within.  Wonder  not  that  I 
hasten  from  thee  with  forebodings — that  I  mourn 
that  my  day  of  peace  is  so  soon  to  be  superseded 
by  one  of  lone  travailing — for  thou  knowest  my 
impetuous  spirit  must  unfold  itself.  Thy  memory, 


184  ITALIAN  SKETCH   BOOK. 

the  hope  of  return,  confidence  in  the  love  of  such 
a  heart — will  such  consolations  ever  fail  or  disap- 
point me?" 

Anina  had  listened  in  the  attitude  and  with  the 
expression  of  one  in  whose  mind  a  prevailing 
sentiment  precluded  the  admission  of  minor  emo- 
tions. She  had  lifted  her  gaze  from  the  glittering 
element  below  as  he  proceeded ;  the  constrained 
smile,  and  disposition  to  withdraw  her  own  and 
his  thoughts  from  dismal  anticipations,  which 
had  pervaded  her  manner  at  the  commencement 
of  the  interview,  now  gave  place  to  an  expression 
indicative  of  high  purpose.  Her  Tuscan  hat 
shaded  without  obscuring  her  features,  as  she 
stood  erect  in  the  full  light  of  the  careering  lumi- 
nary. She  was  above  the  ordinary  height  of  the 
women  of  her  country,  and  her  figure,  when  in 
repose,  might  have  suggested  to  the  experienced 
eye  of  a  continental  sojourner,  the  idea  of  a  more 
northern  extraction  than  she  boasted.  Her  dress, 
too,  with  the  exception  of  the  hat,  bore  no  dis- 
tinctive indications  whereby  a  stranger  could 
have  directly  surmised  that  she  claimed  affinity 
with  the  denizens  of  the  Etrurian  Athens.  But 
one  glance  at  the  countenance  would  have  dis- 
pelled the  illusion  of  the  casual  observer.  The 
complexion,  the  hair,  and,  above  all,  the  peculiar 
depth  and  expressive  fire  of  the  eye,  proclaimed 
Anina  a  legitimate  daughter  of  Italy. 

"Antonio,"  she  replied,  "  there  is  nothing  but 
he  thought  of  what  we  shall  gain  by  this  separa- 


THE  FLORENTINE. 


185 


tion.  that,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Virgin,  enables 
me  to  think  of  it  calmly.  I  feel  that  my  presence 
has  proved  but  a  sad  inspiration  to  your  pencil ; 
and  when  I  remember  what  was  prophesied  of 
your  genius,  but  a  year  since,  I  feel  almost  as  if 
expiating  a  sin  in  resigning  you  to  the  full  influ- 
ence of  absence  from  everything  which  will  ener- 
vate the  energy,  or  distract  the  attention  of  your 
mind;  then  I  feel  it  will  pour  itself  forth  in  the 
exercise  of  your  art ;  and  who  may  predict  the 
result?  This — this  must  comfort  me,  when  left 
to  abide  ceaseless  opposition,  while  my  Tonino  is 
winning  afar  what  will  satisfy  the  views  of 
others,  though  it  cannot  alter  my  own ;  there,  if 
ever  he  gives  a  thought,  amid  his  busy  hours,  to — 
to  "-  —  and  at  the  mere  idea  of  her  lover's  for- 
getfulness,  she  passed,  Italian-like,  from  a  high 
and  womanly  seeming,  to  the  distrustful  sadness  of 
a  child: — she  abruptly  paused,  and  the  tears  flowed 
freely.  It  was  now  for  Antonio  to  rise  to  a  higher 
strain  of  feeling.  With  the  ardent  gesture  and 
impassioned  utterance  characteristic  of  his  coun- 
try, he  soon  unburthened  his  oppressed  heart, 
and  changed  the  mood  of  the  listener.  "And 
now,  Anina,"  he  continued,  "let  us  move  home- 
ward. Forget  not,  twice  every  month,  to  place 
in  the  hands  of  our  faithful  Ipolito  tidings  of 
your  welfare,  which  will  steal  like  rays  of  sun- 
light across  my  solitary  pathway  ; — nor  shall  the 
old  man  fail  to  bring  thee  tokens  of  the  fidelity 
and  experience  of  thy  betrothed.  Let  us  go." 
16* 


186  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

They  left  the  bridge  ;  and  the  first  glimmering 
of  dawn  found  Antonio  sitting,  accoutred  as  a 
traveller,  his  passport  beside  him,  his  trunk  at  his 
feet,  and  himself  inditing  yet  another  addio  to  one 
who,  at  that  moment,  was  looking  tearfully  from 
her  casement,  starting  at  the  distant  rumbling  of 
a  vettura  rolling  along  the  deserted  streets,  and  as 
it  died  away,  breathing  a  prayer  for  the  safe 
return  of  her  lover. 


CHAPTER   II. 


'•  It  cannot  take  away  the  grace  of  life, 
The  comeliness  of  look  that  virtue  gives. 
Her  port  erect  with  consciousness  of  truth, 
Her  rich  attire  of  honorable  deedJf—  * 
It  cannot  lay  its  hand  on  these,  no  more 
Than  it  can  pluck  its  brightness  from  the  sun, 
Or,  with  pollutejMnger — tarnish  it." 


FROM  the  little  metropolis  of  Tuscany — the  birth- 
place of  Dante,  Boccacio,  and  Machiavelli,  let  us 
pass  to  an  abiding-place  of  man  less  blessed  by 
contiguity  to  the  grand  and  beautiful  in  nature, 
and  from  among  its  multitudinous  representatives 
of  humanity,  seek  out  and  note  the  few  individ- 
uals with  whom  our  story  is  connected.  The 
first  scene  breathes  not  the  air  of  the  outer  and 


THE  FLORENTINE. 


isr 


common  London  world.  It  is  a  richly  furnished 
chamber ;  the  quiet  that  reigns,  and  every  little 
arrangement,  suggests,  at  once,  that  it  is  the 
chamber  of  sickness;  but  the  abandoned  couch 
and  the  attitudes  of  the  occupants,  assure  us  that 
the  crisis  of  disease  has  passed,  or  is  yet  to  come. 
Upon  a  rich  arm-chair  reclines  one  whose  gray 
hair  and  slightly  furrowed  brow  speak  either 
of  a  long  or  laborious  life — perhaps  of  both  ; — the 
compressed  lip  and  unyielding  manner  in  which 
the  head  accommodates  itself  to  its  comfortable 
support,  bespeaks  a  pertinacity  of  will,  a  firmness 
of  purpose,  that  even  bodily  weakness  has  failed 
to  subjugate.  At  a  light  and  exquisitely  wrought 
table  beside  the  convalescent — for  such  he  is — 
sits  one  of  those  beings  which,  in  certain  moods,  a 
meditative  man  would  rather  gaze  upon  than 
aught  else  in  the  wide  world.  Mary  Ellmsley 
might  not  be  called  what  is  generally  understood 
by  the  term  beauty ;  she  was  too  small  in  figure, 
too  mild  in  manner,  too  thoughtful  in  expression, 
to  win  the  admiration  of  fashion's  votary,  or  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  amateur  observer  of  the 
world's  inhabitants.  And  yet  there  was  some- 
thing in  her  very  gentleness,  something  in  her 
full  blue  eye,  fair  complexion,  and  light  tresses, 
"brown  in  the  shadow  and  gold  in  the  sun,"  con- 
trasted with  the  mourning  habiliments  in  which 
she  was  clad,  that  insensibly  charmed.  A  lover 
of  Wordsworth's  poetry,  a  partaker  of  Words- 
worth's spirit,  would  have  felt  spontaneously  and 


158  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

irresistibly  interested  as  he  beheld  her.  At  a 
slight  movement  of  the  sick  man,  indicating  his 
revival  from  the  half-sleeping  state  in  which  he 
had  remained  for  some  time,  she  arose,  and  step- 
ping, fairy-like,  about  the  room,  seemed  to  busy 
herself  in  some  little  preparations  for  the  invalid's 
comfort ;  but,  now  and  then,  she  would  steal  an 
anxious  glance  toward  him ;  and  when  she  saw 
that  his  eye  was  following  her  motions,  she  ab- 
ruptly returned  to  her  seat,  and  again  bent  over 
the  book  upon  which  she  had  previously  been 
intent.  But  her  gaze  was  fixed,  and  it  was  plain 
her  mind  was  busied  inwardly ;  and  the  subject 
of  her  musing  could  not  have  been  altogether 
pleasing,  for  her  fingers  mechanically  thrummed 
upon  the  table,  and  twice  she  opened  her  lips  to 
speak,  and  then,  with  an  embarrassed  and  con- 
scious air,  checked  herself.  At  length,  in  a  deci- 
sive manner,  she  closed  the  volume  and  placed  it 
away  with  some  little  care,  and  breathing  a  half- 
suppressed  sigh,  drew  her  chair  nearer  to  the 
cheerful  grate,  and  looked  up  to  the  face  of  the 
invalid. 

"  You  need  not  grieve,  Mary,  for  the  troubles  of 
the  heroine  of  that  tale,"  said  the  old  man;  "you 
know,  as  a  matter  of  course,  all  must  turn  out 
well  at  last." 

"All  is  well  with  her  now,"  she  replied,  "  for 
the  groundless  suspicions  of  man  cannot  harm 
him  who  is  favored  of  God ;  and  so  ought  Micol 
to  feel,  and  therein  be  comforted." 


THE   FLORENTINE.  Igg 

:'An  odd  name  that  for  a  heroine,  Mary;  but 
novelists  must  be  sadly  puzzled,  riovv-a-days, 
both  for  names  and  subjects." 

"  The  author  of  the  volume  I  have  been  read- 
ing depended  little  upon  such  externals.  His 
whole  mind  is  given  to  developing  his  characters 
and  plot,  and  polishing  the  language  in  which 

both  are  portrayed;  at  least  so  Mr. 1  mean,  so 

I  believe  : — for,  in  truth,  I  have  not  read  enough 
yet  to  understand  perfectly." 

:'Pray,  what  is  this  wonderful  book?  I  thought 
you  were  in  the  midst  of  the  ne\v  novel  Lady 
Emily  sent  this  morning." 

"  I  was  trying  to  read  something  I  began  some 
time  ago,  father,  but  which  I  was  prevented  from 
going  on  with  by  circumstances — by  your  unex- 
pected illness,  I  should  say ;  but  I  can't  get  along 
with  it  now ;  I  could  not  well  understand  it,  and 
perhaps  if  I  did,  I  could  not  have  read"- 

"  What  could  n't  you  understand,  child;  what 
was  you  trying  to  read?" 

"  Alfieri's  Saul,  father." 

"  If  you  had  comprehended  it,  why  could  you 
not  read?" 

"My  tears  blinded  me,  father." 

"  I  really  begin  to  believe,  Mary,  that  I  have 
been  to  blame  in  allowing  you  to  share  so  long 
my  confinement ;  you  need  the  fresh  air,  child. 
What  with  our  late  affliction,  (and  here  the  old 
gentleman  brushed  away  a  tear,)  and  the  dull 
duty  of  attending  on  a  sick  old  man's  humors, 


190  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

you  are  scarcely  yourself,  girl, — crying  over  a 
story  you  do  not  understand ! — Nonsense  " 

"  Oh,  father,  you  mistake  ;  it  was  n't  the  story 
that  made  me  weep ;  but  I  read  on  a  little 
way,  and  came  to  a  difficult  part,  and  then  I — I 
thought  "- 

"  The  meaning  would  come  by  your  crying?  " 

"No,  father,  I  thought  who  would  tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  thinking  of  that  made  me  weep." 

"  Worse  and  worse  ;  who  do  you  mean'?  who 
would  explain?" 

"  Mr." — and  she  looked  fearfully  up — "  Mr. 
Lino,  father." 

The  pale  cheek  of  the  convalescent  was  now 
sallow ;  his  features  worked  impatiently,  and  he 
sat  erect.  "  Did  I  not  forbid  you  to  breathe  the 
name  of  that  accursed  man?"  he  fiercely  ex- 
claimed. "  How  can  you  speak  of  him  without 
a  shudder,  when  you  remember  the  peril  into 
which  his  villanous  arts  broughj  me  ?  Have  you 
no  feeling  for  your  own  kin  ?  Can  you  look  upon 
me,  but  just  escaped  from  a  violent  and  awful 
death,  and  not  feel?" 

"  Father,  he  may  be  innocent,"  Mary  sobbed 
out. 

"May  be  innocent?  You  saw  the  cunning 
smile  with  which  he  proffered  the  treacherous 
gift;  you  heard  the  professor  declare  that  he  had 
detected  poison ;  you  witnessed  the  convulsions, 
the  death-like  stupor" -0 


THE  FLORENTINE.  jgj 

"  Oh,  speak  not  of  them,  my  father !  But  had 
we  not  better  ask  him  about  it  ?  I  am  sure  he 
knew  not" 

"Mary,"  he  continued  more  calmly,  "  you  are 
but  a  child  ;  I  will  once  more  explain,  for  your 
satisfaction,  the  reasons  of  my  conduct,  and  then 
I  shall  expect  you,  as  a  reasonable  girl,  to  cease, 
henceforth  and  forever,  to  allude  to  a  subject 
which,  in  your  father's  mind,  is  associated  with 
the  most  painful  remembrances.  I  received  Mr. 
Lino  as  your  teacher,  with  no  recommendation 
but  the  impression  made  upon  me  by  his  appear- 
ance. In  this  I  was  indeed  to  blame ;  but  my 
interest  was  highly  excited ;  I  thought  I  befriend- 
ed a  noble  spirit — an  exile  from  a  depressed  yet 
glorious  country.  I  received  the  Tuscan  wines, 
not  wishing  to  refuse  what  was  offered  as  a  token 
of  friendship.  Happily  in  my  own  person  I  first 
experienced  the  workings  of  the  insidious  poison, 
and  prompt  medical  aid  has  availed  where  it  well 
might  have  despaired.  And  I  live — live  to  punish 
a  villain — live  to  make  an  example  of  one  of  the 
thousand  specious  renegades  from  the  continent, 
who  insinuate  themselves  into  the  homes  of  Eng- 
lishmen, to  abuse  their  hospitality,  to  overreach, 
ay,  and  to  work  their  ruin  !  " 

"  What  possible  motive  could  have  induced 
even  the  thought  of  such  an  act?" 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  shall  tax  my  imagination 
to  discover  the  motives  of  a  treacherous  Italian? 
I  leave  all  such  labor  to  the  law.  Let  it  have 


192  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

its  course.  I  have  done  my  duty  to  myself  and 
my  country." 

"  But  not  to  the  exile,  father ! — Do  but  see 
him ;  perhaps  he  can  explain." 

"  I  am  not  equal  to  a  visit  to  the  Old  Bailey, 
to-night,  Mary." 

His  gentle  auditor  started  back,  and  burst  into 
tears  ;  she  knew  not  of  the  arrest.  But  soon  re- 
covering, she  lifted  up  her  face  to  that  of  her 
parent,  who  beheld,  with  surprise,  an  expression 
of  dignified  and  wounded  feeling,  such  as  he  had 
never  witnessed  before. 

"Father!  my  mother  used  often  to  speak  to  me 
of  one  who,  in  the  agony  of  a  cruel  death,  said 
prayerfully  of  his  enemies,  "  they  know  not  what 
they  do  " — and  she  bade  me  thus  ever  feel  toward 
whomsoever  I  should  deem  wrongful  or  unkind. 
Father,  forgive  me  ! — you  know  not  what  you 
do.  1  feel  that  the  stranger  is  not  guilty  of  the 
awful  crime  with  which  he  is  charged.  It  cannot 
be — the  impression  you  first  received  is  true ;  he 
is  a  nobleman  in  soul.  Oh,  suffer  not  such  a 
spirit  to  be  wounded.  But  I  fear  not  for  him,  for 
he  has  told  me  that  all  great  minds  are  renewed 
by  trial,  and  gather  strength  from  persecution. 
He  has  told  me  of  a  philosopher  of  his  country 
who  was  shut  up  in  a  dungeon  because  he  de- 
clared that  the  earth  went  round  the  sun ;  and 
about  a  poet  whom  they  called  mad,  and  impris- 
oned away  from  the  fields  and  bright  sunlight 
which  he  loved,  and  then  he  became  mad  indeed. 


THE  FLORENTINE.  193 

I  weep  not  for  him,  father;  but  in  the  pleasant 
home  of  his  youth,  there  is  one  who  will  shed 
grievous  tears,  when  the  dismal  tidings  arrive.  I 
mourn  for  her.  Father  !  forget  your  anger;  and 
to  know  that  he  whom  thou  falsely  deemest  thine 
enemy  is  free,  his  reputation  unsullied,  and  his 
betrothed  unstricken,  will  prove  to  thee  more  re- 
viving than  the  bitter  cup  of  revenge.  Father ! 
forgive  me.  Vain,  I  see,  are  the  words  of  your 
Mary.  May  God  protect  the  Italian,  for  he  is 
guiltless !  " 

A  week  subsequent  to  the  conversation  we 
have  related,  toward  the  close  of  day,  a  young 
man  sat  with  folded  arms  and  a  riveted  gaze,  in 
an  apartment  which,  in  the  twilight  that  then 
revealed  it,  presented  an  aspect  of  stern  solidity, 
yet  not  devoid  of  comfort.  An  easel  rested 
against  the  wall ;  a  pallet,  with  some  painting 
utensils,  lay  confusedly  upon  the  floor,  and  a  few 
books  were  scattered  upon  a  small  table.  "Yes, 
Anina  spake  well  and  truly  " — soliloquized  the 
occupant.  "  I  did  need  separation.  I  did  re- 
quire a  pressure  from  without,  or  a  void  around 
me  to  quicken  the  impulses  within.  I  have 
lamented  this  catastrophe,  I  have  bitterly  scorned 
this  disgrace,  long  enough.  And  now  I  will 
wrench  sublime  consolation  from  the  very  gloom 
of  misfortune.  I  have  done  all  that  can  be  done. 
Ere  this,  Ipolito  must  have  received  my  letter. 
17 


194  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

True,  he  knows  not  that  I  am  an  incarcerated 
man,  but  he  knows  the  suspicions  under  which 
I  am  placed ;  he  will  obtain  the  needful  testimo- 
nials; he  will  keep  the  circumstance  from  Anina; 
the  trial  will  at  length  come  on — I  shall  be,  I 
must  be,  triumphantly  acquitted,  and  none  will 
recognize  in  my  English  appellation  the  name  of 
Antonio.  And,  meantime,  I  have  succeeded  in 
effecting  my  purpose,  (and  he  looked  complacently 
upon  the  materials  of  his  art) — here  is  light,  and 
something  of  quiet.  Oh,  that  the  vision  of  yester- 
night would  return  !  I  must  transfix  it — I  must 
embody  the  idea.  Yes,  ere  long  the  face  of  my 
beloved  shall  beam  upon  me,  even  in  this  prison. 
I  feel  that  I  shall  succeed.  They  have  taken  my 
liberty — but  the  mind  is  free!  Oh,  for  the  morning 
light!  I  yearn  for  day.  Let  me  reflect.  A 
beautiful  nun  listening  to  the  Miserere, — the  atti- 
tude that  of  a  suppliant,  the  eye  tearful,  ay,  but 
enraptured  by  the  melody,  and  raised  in  devotion, 
like  Raphael's  St.  Cecilia;  the  expression  with  a 
shade  of  sadness,  but  impassioned — exalted;  and 
the  model — ah  1  the  model  shall  be  Anina  !  " 


THE  FLORENTINE. 


CHAPTER   III. 


"Still  o'er  them  floated  an  inspiring  breath — 
The  odor  and  the  atmosphere  of  song." 


THE  rays  of  sunlight  fell  obliquely  upon  the  Lung' 
Arno,  where  a  goodly  concourse  were  moving  to 
and  fro,  or  conversing  in  stationary  groups.  It 
was  evidently  one  of  those  days  when  the  Italian 
yields  himself,  with  especial  freedom/  to  the 
"dolcefar  niente."  Nodding  and  smiling,  with  a 
buona  festa  for  as  many  of  the  gay  throng  as 
glanced  at  her  playful  demeanor,  the  flower-girl 
distributed  her  violets  embedded  in  leaves  of 
geranium ;  the  blind  man  touched  his  guitar, 
while  an  urchin  beside  him  accompanied  the 
monotonous  strains  with  the  constant  invocation 
"  dartemi  qualchecosa"  and  the  licensed  pauper 
rattled  his  tin  cup,  and  implored  the  lightsome 
beings  who  glided  by — uper  amore  dl  Dio" — to 
give  of  their  substance.  The  equipage  of  the 
Grand  Duke  passed  rapidly  from  the  palace  to- 
ward the  Cacine;  but  the  Grand  Duke  himself 
preferred  a  promenade  to  a  ride  with  the  ladies  of 
his  household,  as  one  might  learn  from  the  uni- 
versal and  respectful  recognition  manifested  by 
the  crowd  of  pedestrians  toward  the  gentleman  in 
a  brown  coat,  so  plainly  fashioned,  that  it  would 
infallibly  obtain  for  him  the  cognomen  of  Quaker, 


196  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

in  certain  localities  far  beyond  the  limits  of  his 
own  little  duchy.  Two  disputants,  beginning  to 
perceive  that  their  war  of  words  was  becoming 
too  obstreperous  for  the  scene  and  occasion, 
hastily  emerged  from  the  crowd  into  an  open 
and  comparatively  vacant  square,  in  order  to 
renew  their  colloquy  at  ease.  Thither  we  will 
follow. 

"  Mark  me,  Carlo,  I  speak  of  the  action,  the 
expression,  the  performance  throughout,  and  I 
speak  of  Ronzi  when  she  is  herself." 

"And  then  you  will  persist,  Luigi,  in  maintain- 
ing that  Malibran  is  surpassed  in  the  Norma?" 

"That  will  I,  caro  mio,  against  whoever  will 
gainsay  it." 

"  Thou  hast  then  undertaken  to  oppose  thy 
single  judgment  to  the  universal  sentiment.  Hast 
heard  of  Garcia' s  adventure  at  Arezzo  ?  " 

"  And  was  not  I  one  of  the  torch-bearing  mul- 
titude that  attended  cara  Ronzi  home  from  the 
Pergola?  But  to  the  point,  arnica  mio ;  didst 
thou  not  perceive,  last  night,  in  her  speaking 
countenance,  every  minute  shade  of  varying 
expression  ?  Did  not  her  commanding  figure, 
dignified  air,  eloquent  eyes,  and,  above  all,  her 
mellifluous  voice,  bring  home  to  thee  most 
touchingly  the  passionate  ideas  involved  in  the 
Norma?" 

"  I  tell  thee,  Luigi,  that  Italy  has  settled  the 
question;  thou  art  dreaming  of  Ronzi  as  she 


THE  FLORENTINE.  ^97 

was.     Malibran  is  in  her  prime,  and  Europe  has 
awarded  her  the  palm." 

"  There  are  those  in  Florence,  Carlo,  without 
the  precincts  of  thy  wine-shop,  who  would  con- 
tend with  thee  on  that  point." 

"  Not  one,  save  thyself,  Luigi." 

"Santissima  Virgine!  there  was  but  one  voice 
in  the  parterre,  on  the  first  representation." 

"Ah,  poverino  !  thy  wits  are  unsettled  by 
music;  thus  thou  speakest  of  each  prima  donna 
in  turn  ;  she  is  always  better  than  all  who 
preceded.  But,  caro,  thou  shalt  not  make  all 
Firenze  share  thy  perversity.  Nay,  have  pa- 
tience ;  thou  shalt  be  convinced.  If  the  first 
passer-by  who  hath  seen  the  Norma,  as  performed 
by  both,  doth  not  agree  with  me,  then  Carlo 
Pisani  will  do  thy  bidding,  so  that  it  be  not  to 
displease  a  customer,  nor  to  break  law." 

"  I  am  content." 

"  Here  is  a  grave  and  stately  cavalier; — ah,  he 
would  light  his  cigar."  "  Ecco  Signor,"  said 
Carlo,  approaching  the  stranger,  and  proffering 
his  flint; — "Signor,  canst  say  if  there  will  be 
any  necessity  for  entering  the  parterre  an  hour 
before  the  time,  to-night  ?  " 

"Is  not  the  Norma  inimitably  executed?"  said 
Luigi. 

"  I  have  so  seen  it." 

"  And  by  La  Malibran?"  inquired  Carlo. 

"  By  her  superior  in  that  character,  at  least," 
was  the  reply. 
17* 


198  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  Bravo  !  "  exclaimed  Luigi.  "  There,  Carlo,'7 
he  added  triumphantly,  "you  see  De  Begnis  has 
one  more  votary." 

"  That  one  is  not  me,"  said  the  cavalier. 

It  was  now  Luigi' s  turn  to  feel  disappointed. 
"Prithee,  Signor,"  he  continued,  "who  dost  thou 
think  is  inimitable  in  the  Norma?" 

"  Signora  Pasta." 

"  Excuse  me,  you  are  a" 

"Milanese,"  replied  the  stately  gentleman,  as 
he  walked  away,  complacently  exhaling  the 
fragrant  smoke. 

The  smile  and  the  shrug  of  the  amused  friends 
were  scarcely  enacted  with  true  Italian  expres- 
siveness, when  their  attention  was  directed  to  the 
advancing  figure  of  a  primly  attired  old  man. 
Luigi  recognized  him  as  an  acquaintance  from 
Prato;  and  after  they  had  interchanged  a  greeting, 
asked  if  he  had  visited  the  city  to  attend  the 
opera. 

"  Not  altogether,"  he  answered. 

Carlo  felt  again  encouraged. 

"  Doubtless,"  continued  Luigi,  "  you  think  our 
prima  donna  cannot  be  sufficiently  admired  ?  " 

"  I  ne'er  knew  but  one  of  whom  I  could  thus 
speak,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  and  she  is 
yonder." 

"  At  rehearsal?"  asked  Luigi,  hopefully. 

"  Does  Catalan i  rehearse  for  her  private  enter- 
tainments? I  had  thought  that,  in  her  villa  in 
the  environs,  music  was  wholly  a  pastime." 


THE  FLORENTINE.  199 

"(7'e caduto  il  formaggio  su  maccaroni"  *  said 
Carlo,  pointing  to  the  opposite  street.  "  Here 
comes  Signor  Bartolomeo,  who,  thou  well  know- 
est,  is  uninfluenced  by  local  prejudice,  and  not  so 
old  as  to  sympathize  only  in  retired  opera  per- 
formers; for  thy  comfort,  too,  know,  Luigi,  that 
he  is  a  connoisseur  in  dramatic  as  well  as  in 
musical  efforts." 

"And  thou  art  not  aware  of  his  opinion  of 
Ronzi?" 

"  Only  generally,  and  not  in  the  Norma." 

"Pardon,  Signor,"  said  Luigi,  as  he  took  the 
hand  of  the  new  comer,  "  tell  me  how  you  are 
pleased  with  Bellini's  new  opera  and  its  present 
representation." 

"  It  is  a  glorious  thing ;  and  who  can  do  it 
greater  justice  than  the  still  beautiful  "- 

"  Malibran  Garcia,"  interrupted  Carlo. 

"  Ronzi  de  Begnis,"  exclaimed  Bartolomeo. 

"Name  thy  requirement,"  said  Carlo,  looking 
impatiently  at  Luigi. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  his  friend,  smilingly ;  I 
must  consider ;  but  fear  not.  I  shall  not  be  very 
severe  ;  and,  for  the  present,  addio" 

Ascending  one  of  the  neighboring  elevations, 
whence  is  obtainable  an  extensive  view  embra- 


*  "  The  cheese  has  fallen  on  the  macaroni,"  i.e.  a  desirable  coinci- 
dence has  occurred.  When  we  consider  in  what  esteem  this  article  of 
food  is  held  by  the  Italians,  and  how  indispensable  is  deemed  the  addi- 
tion of  grated  cheese,  the  force  of  the  proverb  is  obvious. 


200  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

cing  the  thickly  clustered  dwellings  of  Florence, 
her  mammoth  Duomo,  and  the  adjoining  and  en- 
circling Apennine,  Luigi  came  upon  a  quiet  road 
walled  on  one  side,  and  overlooking,  on  the  other, 
a  broad  valley  covered  with  olive  trees,  and  con- 
taining several  villas  and  small  dwellings.  Here, 
during  most  of  the  day,  the  sun  exerts  its  full 
influence,  and  the  walled  hill-side  shields  the  sol- 
itary road  from  the  wind ;  and  here,  in  view  of 
the  soothing  landscape,  an  elderly  and  somewhat 
portly  man,  with  a  countenance  bland  in  its 
aspect,  though  slightly  shaded  with  seriousness, 
was  enjoying  a  retired  promenade.  He  was  so 
occupied  with  his  own  thoughts,  as  not  to  be 
aware  of  Luigi's  presence  until  the  latter  had 
audibly  saluted  him. 

"One  would  think,  Signor  Ipolito,  that  thou 
wert  not  the  guardian  of  Firenze's  fairest  daugh- 
ter, judging  from  thy  sober  visage  and  unwontedly 
lonely  walk." 

"And  it  may  be,  Luigi  mio,  that  what  thou 
deemest  a  consoling  office,  (and  God  knows  it 
hath  been,)  can  become  the  occasion  of  anxious 
musings." 

"  Has  aught  inauspicious,  caro,  happened  to 
thy  charge?  Ne'er  have  I  seen  a  more  beauteous 
and  joyful  face  than  was  hers,  when  last  I  saw 
her  in  the  arbor-walks  of  the  Boboli." 

"  The  poor  child  is  harassed,  Luigi,  by  one 
who  should  prize  her  peace  beyond  the  vagaries 
of  prideful  hope." 


THE  FLORENTINE.  201 

"  Ah  !  I  understand  you.  The  old  lady  still 
opposes  the  addresses  of  Antonio.  Corpo  di 
Bacco !  shemay  wait  till  too  late,  to  realize  her 
fond  project  of  uniting  Anina  to  one  of  noble 
birth.  True,  she  sacrificed  her  own  wealth  and 
nobility  to  the  good  Francisco  that 's  gone ;  but 
'tis  scarcely  fair  to  force  poor  Anina  to  regain 
them  with  the  sacrifice  of  her  affections." 

"It  is  the  mother's  inconsistency  that  provokes 
me.  High  birth  has  been  her  sine  qua  non  when 
the  name  of  Anina  was  mentioned  in  connection 
with  matrimony.  And  the  lack  of  this  has  been 
the  only  fault  she  could  find  with  Antonio  ;  for  a 
kindlier  and  more  gifted  giovenotto  is  not  to  be 
found  in  Florence.  Yet  at  our  last  conversazione, 
Avhen  all  the  company  were  talking  of  the  artist 
with  whose  fame  London  is  ringing,  the  Marchi- 
oness, glad  of  an  opportunity  to  depreciate  Anto- 
nio, said  to  me,  '  Signor  Ipolito,  thou  hast  often 
told  me  that  Anina's  absent  admirer  possessed 
nobility  of  soul  and  of  intellect,  if  not  of  birth  ; 
why  could  not  he  manage  to  get  imprisoned  and 
astonish  the  world  with  his  painting,  as  well  as 
this  unknown  Florentine,  if  he  indeed  be  one?'  ': 

"Were  it  so,  Signora  mia,"  I  replied,  "thou 
wouldst  not  think  better  of  him.  for  he  would  still 
be  a  plebeian." 

"  I  tell  thee,"  exclaimed  she.  energetically, 
"Anina  should  marry  him." 

"Why,  mother,"  said  Anina  timidly,  "the 
artist  would  still  be  Antonio — a  mere  native  of 


202  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

Florence.  Tell  me  in  what  differs  Camilini,  in 
this  respect,  from  the  famed  artist  who  is  even 
known  only  as  a  Florentine  ?" 

"  As  THE  Florentine,  you  mean,"  returned  the 
Signora,  with  emphasis.  And  therein,  Luigi,  did 
she  find  an  attraction  equal  even  to  her  much- 
loved  family  greatness.  Oh,  it  is  a  mere  vain 
ambition  that  divides  Antonio  and  Anina.  Ere 
long,  the  Misericordia  must  take  away  their  old 
brother,  and  1  could  die  more  peacefully,  was 
Anina  under  the  conjugal  protection  of  such  a 
man  as  Antonio.  I  did  trust  that  this  day 
month,  when  she  will  attend  her  cousin  Beatrice 
to  the  altar,  would  see  them  also  united.  Would 
that  parental  opposition  were  the  sole  trouble,  or 
that  she  had  a  more  powerful  friend  than  old 
Ipolilo !  " 

"  And  would  that  the  friendship  I  bear  thee 
entitled  me  to  share  thy  perplexities." 

"  Luigi,  thou  shalt  know  all,  though  it  is  vain 
to  expect  a  secret  kept  in  Florence.  Yet  thou 
canst  surely  restrain  thy  tongue,  when  the  happi- 
ness of  such  an  one  as  Anina  is  involved." 

"  Trust  me, — per  St.  Giovanni" 

"  Bene.  Know,  then,  that  Antonio  had  a 
goodly  quantity  of  our  Florence  wines  sent  to 
London;  for  (would  you  believe  it?)  they  tell 
me  a  flask  of  Aleatico  costs  two  or  three  francis- 
coni  there ; — and  Tonino  rightly  fancied  such  a 
luxury  would  furnish  an  acceptable  gift  to  his 
English  friends.  The  first  he  presented  nearly 


THE  FLORENTINE.  203 

destroyed  a  nobleman ;  suspicion  was  excited ; 
the  wines  were  examined,  and  found  to  contain 
poison.  For  a  long  time  I  have  been  sifting  the 
matter  secretly,  for  Tonino  charges  me  to  be 
circumspect,  lest  Anina  learns  his  peril ;  and 
makes  as  light  as  possible  of  the  danger  by 
which  he  is  surrounded.  Carlo  Pisani  acknowl- 
edges he  bought  the  flasks  of  an  apothecary,  and 
that  his  people  transferred  the  wine,  by  mistake, 
before  they  were  cleansed,  and  several  of  them 
contained  the  sediment  of  baneful  drugs.  Thus 
the  circumstance  is  explained ;  but  Carlo  will  not 
be  persuaded  to  furnish  an  affidavit  to  the  facts 
which  will  alone  avail,  until  Antonio's  safety 
absolutely  demands  it;  and  such  he  is  not  con- 
vinced is  the  case  now ;  he  says  such  a  declara- 
tion from  him  will  ruin  his  business;  and  he 
knows  I  am  too  fearful  of  the  affair  being  known, 
to  appeal  to  the  police.  Thus  I  have  been  kept 
at  bay,  and  I  know  not  what,  course  to  adopt. 
One  of  the  two  evils  must  be  chosen.  And  each 
is  inimical  either  to  the  wishes  or  the  safety  of 
Antonio." 

The  countenance  of  Luigi  brightened.  "  Thou 
hast  told  thy  dilemma,"  said  he,  "  to  one  able  to 
extricate  thce.  Ere  the  post  leaves  to-morrow, 
thou  shalt  have  the  affidavit." 

"Think  not  to  persuade  Carlo;  what  means 
have  you  more  than  I?  Explain." 

"Pazienza!  He  is  under  a  promise.  Dine 
with  me  to-morrow  at  Marche's,  and  you  shall  be 


204  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

informed  more  fully.     Trust  me  wholly.     Hast 
aught  else  to  say  ?  " 

"Naught,  save  to  thank  Heaven  arid  thee." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Juliet.    "  How  cam'st  thou  hither,  tell  me  ?  " 

Romeo.  "  By  love  who  first  did  prompt  me  to  inquire  ; 
He  lent  me  counsel,  and  I  lent  him  eyes. 
I  am  no  pilot ;  yet,  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  washed  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandize." 


A  GROUP,  consisting  chiefly  of  females,  in  whose 
attire  white  was  the  predominant  color,  stood  in 
cheerful  converse  upon  the  broadly-paved  espla- 
nade before  the  church  of  Santa  Croce.  The 
morning  was  not  far  advanced,  yet  so  warmly 
did  the  sun  beat  upon  the  marble  pavement,  that 
the  long  snowy  veils  in  which  two  of  the  party 
were  arrayed,  were  put  aside,  and  the  breeze 
from  the  mountains  played  sportively  among  the 
dark  ringlets  of  Beatrice,  and  over  the  more  pen- 
sive countenance  of  her  cousin.  The  arrival  of 
an  additional  pair  seemed  a  signal  for  their  com- 
mune to  cease ;  and  joining  hands,  the  several 
couples  stood  in  order,  each  bearing  a  wreath  of 
flowers ;  and  when  a  lad,  in  the  habit  of  the 


THE  FLORENTINE.  395 

church,  raised  on  high  the  heavy  curtain  which 
hung  before  the  entrance,  the  solemn  tones  of  a 
chant  were  faintly  heard,  and  the  little  band  reve- 
rently entered.  It  was  evidently  a  marriage  pro- 
cession. As  they  walked  silently  up  the  long 
avenue,  the  light  tread  of  the  fair  train  echoed 
softly  in  the  pauses  of  the  chant,  and  one  might 
have  fancied,  as  he  gazed  from  a  distance, 
through  the  shadowy  expanse,  that  a  company 
of  spirits  were  passing  from  their  resting-place 
beneath,  forth  to  some  earthly  ministration.  Nor 
were  the  objects  around  unfavorable  to  the  in- 
dulgence of  such  an  idea.  The  majestic  figure  of 
Dante  leaning  over  from  above  the  tomb  prepared 
in  vain  to  receive  his  dust,  with  his  stern  expres- 
sion of  dignified  grief,  the  marble  personification 
of  Italy  standing  in  the  attitude  of  a  mourner 
above  the  sepulchre  of  her  great  tragedian, 
the  dense  entablatures,  the  heavy  architecture, 
breathed,  in  the  dim  light,  a  mystic  solemnity. 
But  all  these  were  still,  and  cold,  and  senseless  ; 
while  the  bright  eyes,  the  moving  lips,  the  fresh 
and  fragrant  roses  of  the  bridal  party,  spake  of 
life,  of  life  in  its  conscious  beauty  and  promise. 
And  when  the  gentle  forms  encircled,  with  a 
statue-like  quietude,  the  railing  of  the  altar,  the 
tremulous  accents  in  which  the  responses  were 
uttered,  the  low  quick  breathings,  the  glistening 
tears — these  spoke,  indeed,  of  the  spiritual,  but  of 
the  spiritual  while  yet  environed  with  the  attri- 
butes of  humanity. 
18 


206  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

A  slight  hustle  denoted  that  the  ceremony  was 
concluded  ;  yet  was  there  no  sign  of  immediate 
separation.  The  officiating  priest  was  soon  en- 
gaged in  a  discourse  with  Beatrice,  which  ap- 
peared to  rivet  the  attention  of  the  group.  The 
old  man  had  been  her  confessor  from  infancy, 
and  with  a  truly  paternal  interest,  he  was  speak- 
ing of  her  duties  and  destiny.  Anina  felt  herself 
gently  drawn  aside,  and  obeying  the  signal  of 
Ipolito,  she  followed  him  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  church.  Soon  after,  the  attention  of  the  party 
was  aroused  by  a  faint  cry,  but  whether  of  sur- 
prise or  fear,  was  not  clearly  indicated ;  and,  for  a 
moment,  their  eyes  were  directed  to  the  point 
whence  it  seemed  to  proceed  ;  but  there  being  no 
repetition,  and  the  words  of  the  priest  becoming 
more  and  more  interesting,  they  were  soon  ab- 
sorbed again.  Advancing  footsteps  now  aroused 
them — not  the  measured  and  scarcely  audible 
tread  with  which  they  had  approached  the  altar, 
but  the  firm,  quick  steps  of  confidence  and  ex- 
pectancy. Anina  appeared,  led  on  by  a  manly 
and  graceful  cavalier,  whom  all  present  imme- 
diately recognized  as  Antonio.  Returning  their 
eager  inquiries  and  salutations  only  with  a  smile 
and  a  nod,  he  immediately  addressed  the  now 
silent  priest : — "  Father,  if  thou  art  not  weary,  a 
new  bridal  service  awaiteth  thee,  after  which 
thy  blessing  and  exhortation  may  be  doubly 
bestowed."  Astonishment  was  in  every  face  ; 
yet  the  manner  of  Antonio  proved  singularly 


'LtlE  FLORENTINE.  ^07 

effective,  and  all  yielded  to  its  influence,  none 
without  surprise,  yet  all  with  alacrity ;  and  when 
the  campanile  announced  that  the  sun  had 
reached  his  meridian,  Antonio  was  the  reigning 
star  of  a  gay  assemblage  in  the  house  of  the 
Marchioness,  and  Anina  was  his  bride.  At  a 
moment  when  her  guests  were  all  occupied,  she 
stole  away,  and  entered  her  mother's  apartment. 

"  Mother,  I  knew  not  that  Antonio  could  boast 
relationship  with  a  Count,  still  less  that  he  had 
inherited  his  title." 

"  Nor  I,  Anina.     You  do  not  mean  "- 
"Nay,  I  would  question  thee,  mother." 
"  It  is  a  vain  question,  my  daughter ;  you  know 
it  admits  but  one   answer" — and   the   old  lady 
sighed. 

"  And  yet  the  untitled  Antonio  is  my  husband; 
and,  unless  Ipolito  reversed  his  message  with 
thine  approval  "- 

"Anina,  thou  knowest  what  renders  renowned 
the  much  talked  of  picture  called  the   'Miserere,' 
purchased  at  such  a  price  by  Lord  Ellmsley." 
"  They  say  it  is  the  face  of  the  nun." 
"  Anina,    they   say,    too,    that   face   resembles 
thine,"   and  the  mother  embraced  her  child,  and 
then  gazed  meaningly  upon  her. 

A  glow  of  delight  thrilled  to  the  heart  of  Anina. 
"  I  see  it  all,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Antonio  Cami- 
lini,  my  Antonio,  is  THE  FLORENTINE  !" 


MISCELLANY, 


18* 


BYRONIA. 


"  Truths  that  wake 

To  perish  never, 
Which  neither  listlessness  nor  mad  endeavor, 

Nor  man  nor  boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy  ! 


SOMEWHAT  akin  to  the  sacred  influence  that  in- 
dividual associations  throw  over  familiar  scenesj- 
is  that  with  which  the  spell  of  literature  invests 
the  spot  it  celebrates.  How  much  nearer  to  us 
has  Irving  brought  England  in  her  primitive  and 
baronial  aspect !  and  who  that  has  worthily  felt 
the  enchantment  of  the  northern  minstrel,  or  the 
heart-music  of  Burns's  lyre,  will  ever  wander 
without  a  home-feeling  over  the  Highlands,  or 
along  the  Tweed  !  And  by  a  transition  the  most 
natural,  the  musing  traveller  is  ever  fondly  re- 
verting to  the  origin  of  those  associations  which 
have  so  richly  peopled  the  lone  mount  and  the 
silent  lake,  the  ruined  castle  and  the  umbrageous 
glen.  And  when  circumstances  of  peculiar  moral 
interest  are  attached  to  such  intellectual  benefac- 


212  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

tors,  when  their  remembrance  is  associated  with 
something  of  a  mournful  destiny,  commiseration 
is  mingled  with  gratitude,  and  we  unconsciously 
yield  them  a  tribute  of  sympathy  as  sincere  as  it 
is  spontaneous.  It  is  astonishing  how  the  indul- 
gence of  such  feelings,  amid  the  scenes  which 
have  awakened  them,  tends  to  personify  their 
object.  They  evoke  the  image  of  the  departed, 
not  as  it  may  long  have  existed  to  the  eye  of 
fancy,  but  with  the  life-like  lineaments  which 
only  a  love-inspired  imagination — nature's  holiest 
limner — can  depict.  From  a  fanciful  vision,  it 
assumes  the  ideal  presence  and  companionship  of 
a  congenial  friend. 

The  Byronic  associations  of  Italy  constitute  an 
interesting  episode  in  the  meditative  suggestions 
of  the  land.  Of  course  they  are  not  equally  or 
universally  enjoyed.  But  we  who  recognize  the 
English  language  as  our  vernacular,  and  prize 
English  literature  as  our  heritage,  are  peculiarly 
open  to  their  influence — especially  those  of  us  in 
whose  minds  the  noble  bard's  effusions  are  asso- 
ciated with  the  thousand  thrilling  sentiments  that 
embalm  the  remembrance  of  the  first  contempo- 
raneous poet  to  whose  power  we  were  suscep- 
tible. 

When  sojourning  within  the  "fair  white  walls" 
of  Florence,  haunting  the  time-stricken  trophies 
of  the  "City  of  the  Soul,"  or  standing  on  the 
"  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  we  are  conscious  as  it  were 
instinctively  of  a  vicinity  to  Childe  Harold ;  we 


BYRONIA.  213 

identify  the  author  with  the  scenes  of  his  pilgrim- 
age, and  recognize  him  as  an  intellectual  and 
ideal  cicerone.  The  very  characteristic  of  the  Ro- 
maunt  which  has  been  a  prominent  point  of  cri- 
tical objection,  enhances  its  power  in  this  respect. 
To  us,  thus  influenced,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
the  pilgrim  occasionally  speaks  of  himself.  The 
allusions  to  personal  feelings  with  which  the 
poem  is  interlineated,  give  to  its  hero  this  very 
character  of  life  and  reality.  We  feel  his  pres- 
ence the  more,  because  his  attention  is  occasion- 
ally turned  from  the  objects  which  we  seem  mu- 
tually to  contemplate,  and  inwardly  directed.  It 
strikes  us  as  natural  for  our  companion  to  com- 
mune with  himself  aloud,  or  pour  into  our  sym- 
pathizing bosoms  the  tale  of  his  deep  experience. 
Surrounded  as  we  are  by  tokens  of  fallen  gran- 
deur, and  the  results  of  human  genius,  it  agrees 
with  our  existent  mood  that  humanity  should  be 
discussed ;  we  are  lured  to  the  very  portal  of 
metaphysics.  And  however  intrinsically  sad  the 
strain  of  him  with  whom  we  commune,  its  mel- 
ancholy ardor  meets  a  conscious  want,  which 
cold  speculation  could  ill  supply. 

Byron,  then,  is  singularly  interesting  to  us  in 
Italy.  We  remember  that  the  very  poem  which 
is  so  ministering  to  our  pleasure  was  there  com- 
posed, and  we  are  mindful  that  thence  he  de- 
parted to  return  no  more.  At  Newstead,  we 
think  of  his  boisterous  period  of  youthful  convi- 
viality— of  the  bright  and  beautiful  dream  of  his 


214  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

first  love  ;  on  the  borders  of  the  Leman,  we  con- 
template his  wild  revellings  with  the  elements,  or 
his  rich  communings  with  serener  nature,  and 
muse  upon  his  bitter  regrets  over  blighted  affec- 
tions ;  but  Italy  we  feel  was  the  scene  of  a  more 
deliberate  and  introspective  period — of  a  long 
and  sweet  converse  with  antiquity.  As  the  one 
fearful  pause  antecedent  to  the  catastrophe,  as  the 
meditative  hour  preceding  the  eventful  act,  was 
his  sojourn  in  Italy  before  the  fatal  expedition  in 
the  drama  of  Byron's  life.  Such  impressions 
heighten  not  a  little  the  effect  of  the  fourth  canto 
of  the  Pilgrimage.  When,  in  the  hour  of  full 
and  free  emotion,  we  find  relief,  satisfaction,  and 
delight,  in  recurring  to  its  glowing  periods,  the 
history,  the  misfortunes,  the  very  errors  of  the 
poet  impart  a  solemnity  and  thrilling  interest  to 
his  legacy. 

Never  to  me  were  these  associations  more  rife 
and  vivid  than  in  Venice — loved  even  "  from  his 
boyhood."  The  window  of  my  apartment  over- 
looked one  of  the  minor  canals,  whose  quiet  surface 
was  rarely  ruffled  by  a  passing  gondola.  The 
solid  masonry  which  bounded  the  view  within 
a  narrow  compass,  was  darkly  shaded  by  the 
mildew  of  age,  and  overgrown,  at  intervals,  with 
mossy  green.  The  polished  tiles  of  the  floor,  and 
the  antique  style  of  the  furniture,  were  in  unison 
with  the  prevailing  language  without.  To  this 
sanctum  was  I  wont  to  repair  after  the  various 
excursions  which  introduce  the  stranger  to  an 


BYRONIA. 


215 


acquaintance  with  the  Ocean  Queen.  And  by 
this  means,  the  train  of  thought  and  the  emotive 
mood,  adapted  to  the  place,  were  scarcely,  even 
for  a  moment,  invaded.  Eloquent  silence,  an 
almost  audible  decay,  and  antiquated  trophies  of 
art,  were  about  me  every  hour  of  the  long  sum- 
mer day.  I  lived  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  past. 
Venetian  characteristics  afford  an  excitement  to 
the  feelings  of  a  gentle  and  dream-like  nature, 
instinct  with  pathos,  and  more  conducive  to 
vague  meditation  than  awakening  thought.  Their 
influence  is  essentially  different  from  that  induced 
by  other  clustered  monuments  of  by-gone  glory  ; 
it  is  as  unique  as  the  Sea-Cybele  herself.  The 
principle  of  association  is  primarily  addressed, 
and  the  dim  and  distant  forms  of  Henry  Dandolo 
and  Marino  Faliero  not  unfrequently  give  way  to 
his,  who 

"Not  in  vain 
Has  worn  the  sandal  shoon  and  scallop  shell." 

Under  the  dark  awning  of  the  gondola,  within 
the  richly  pictured  halls  of  the  palace,  and  be- 
neath the  lofty  dome,  we  remember  how  often  his 
feet  have  pressed  the  same  spot,  his  eye  rested  on 
the  same  objects,  his  soul  yielded  to  the  same  in- 
spiration. Mingling,  at  even-time,  with  the  fes- 
tive throng  on  the  piazza  of  St.  Marks,  we  recall 
the  ardent  imagination  and  warmth  of  feeling 
which  led  him  to  dedicate  to  pleasure  what  was 
sacred  to  virtue ;  gazing  upon  the  sunburnt  fea- 


216  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

tures  of  his  old  gondolier,  we  fancy  how  often  he 
must  have  stood  by  him  alone  upon  the  silent 
sea,  witless  of  the  mystic  movements  of  the  poet's 
soul;  surrounded. by  the  placid  waters  of  the  bay 
or  the  wave-washed  Lido,  we  picture  the  manly 
vigor  arid  beauty  of  his  frame,  as  he  fearlessly 
buffeted  the  waves,  or  urged  his  courser  along 
the  sands;  and  in  the  porter's  lodge  of  the  Fos- 
carini  palace,  beholding  his  helmet-like  head-gear 
of  the  Horse-Guards,  we  think  of  the  last  sad 
epoch  in  his  history — that  chivalrous  enterprise 
and  lonely  death.  Poor  Byron!  (we  are  ready 
to  exclaim,)  how  often  didst  thou  gaze  musingly, 
at  the  midnight  hour,  upon  the  calm  element 
around  thee,  and  yearn  for  something  of  its  clear- 
ness and  quietude  !  How  must  thy  heart  have 
wrestled  with  its  despair,  when  not  a  sigh  escaped 
thee !  There  must  have  been  high  and  pure 
aspirations  looming,  like  beacon  fires,  from  the 
gloom  of  thy  desponding  hours;  there  must  have 
been  glimpses  of  an  unattained  good,  when  sa- 
tiety was  most  deeply  realized.  And  if,  in  those 
better  moments,  there  had  been  one  beside  thee 
whom  thou  couldst  have  lawfully  and  truly  loved 
— one  true  child  of  humanity  to  "  strike  the  elec- 
tric chain "  with  the  wand  of  truth — a  mind 
reverently  sympathizing  with  thy  genius,  a  heart 
deeply  commiserating  thy  perversion,  a  being 
who  could  win  back  thy  "  lone  wandering  but  not 
lost"  spirit,  and  urge  it  upward — might  thou  not 
have  been  recalled,  awakened,  renewed  ?  The 

«n-/-'v?> 


BYRONIA.  217 

golden  bowl  was  not  yet  broken,  nor  the  silver 
cord  loosened.  Love,  conscience,  still  lingered; 
reason  obtained ;  ideality  was  rife ;  and  when 
the  sense  of  the  right,  the  beautiful,  the  true, 
exists,  who  that  has  sounded  the  depths  of  his 
own  nature  will  dare  to  despair  of  "nature's 
master-piece — the  poet-soul  ?"  Yes!  wedded  to 
pleasure  as  the  world  thought  thee,  and  baffled 
in  spirit  as  thou  truly  wert,  we  feel  here,  amid 
the  ocean  air  and  solemn  aspect  of  Venice,  how 
little  we  do  really  know  of  thee — how  little  thou 
didst  know  of  thyself ! 


NATURAL    LANGUAGE. 


"  I  have  learned 

To  look  on  Nature." 


BY  this  appellation  have  no  ordinary  school  of 
philosophers  distinguished  the  gesticular  and  in- 
voluntary modes  of  human  expression,  from  the 
more  deliberate  and  direct  vehicle  of  communica- 
tion which  we  call  speech.  It  is  interesting,  in 
every  point  of  view,  to  observe  and  study  this 
species  of  language.  Few  indications  of  innate 
sentiment  are  more  authentic;  and  in  no  exterior 
forms  are  character,  constitutional  peculiarities, 
and  physical  temperament,  more  prominently  de- 
lineated. For  myself,  having  ever  been  prone  to 
indulge  a  passion  for  the  observation  of  humanity 
under  all  her  aspects,  the  natural  language  has 
afforded  me  a  fund  of  entertainment  and  instruc- 
tion ;  and  Italy  affords  an  admirable  school  for 
its  study.  There  is  something  worthy  of  the 
thorough  integrity  of  Nature  in  this  ordinance  of 
her  statute  book.  It  is  well  that  the  unyielding 
arrogance  of  the  proud  man  should  impart  a 


220  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

rigidity  to  his  dorsal  region,  throw  up  the  chin, 
deepen  the  curvature  of  the  spine,  and  render  the 
gait  measured,  arid  the  air  pompous ;  it  is  expedient 
that  the  lips  of  him  unyielding  in  purpose,  should 
be  habitually  compressed  ;  that  wiry  muscles 
should  assume  the  aspect  of  motionless  lines  upon 
the  face  of  the  heartless ;  that  sportive  smiles,  a 
glancing  eye,  and  a  sinister  lurking  meaning, 
should  mark  the  cunning;  and  slowly  evolved 
words,  and  a  stiff  carriage,  the  precise.  And  it  is 
as  wisely  ordered  that  a  sweet  calm  should  rest 
upon  the  countenance  of  the  true  hearted,  sunny 
smiles  array  the  visage  of  the  innocent,  and  a 
flashing  eye  and  general  activity  of  nerve  bespeak 
the  enthusiast.  All  these  oinworkings  of  nature, 
these  honest  and  indelible  inscriptions  upon  the 
temples  of  humanity,  are  worthy  of  grateful  re- 
cognition. For  the  life  of  me,  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  such  insignia  are  not  as  intrinsically 
interesting  as  the  cloud-pictures  on  the  sky  which 
men  note  for  meteorological  purposes,  or  the  veins 
of  rock  which  are  conned  by  the  geologist  to 
nomenclate  the  species  or  predicate  the  sub-stra- 
tum; nay,  I  understand  not  why  such  signs  of 
man  may  not  be  as  profitably  inspected  as  the  cut 
of  his  coat,  the  altitude  of  his  chapeau,  or  the  set 
of  his  nether  garments,  whereby  many  are  wont 
to  form  ultimate  judgments  of  his  rank  and  merits. 
Assuredly  there  is  a  true  philosophy  in  abjuring 
these  conventional  grounds  of  estimating  our 
kind,  and  attentively  perusing  the  more  legitimate 


NATURAL  LANGUAGE.  221 

hand- writing  upon  the  wall,  behind  which  the 
hidden  elements  of  character  are  at  work. 

It  is  astonishing  how  many  and  admirable 
purposes  are  answered  by  this  arrangement  in 
the  economy  of  our  being.  Not  only  does  the 
natural  language  serve  as  a  kind  of  exponent  to 
the  great  sum  of  principles,  spiritual  and  physi- 
cal, involved  in  an  individual  specimen  of  the 
genus  homo ;  its  degrees  of  vigor  and  extent  of 
development  characterize  nations  as  significantly 
as  their  vernacular  tongues.  Few  parts  of  the 
globe  present  more  favorable  opportunities  for 
enjoying  a  general  and  contrasted  view  of  na- 
tional natural  language,  than  the  southern  regions 
of  Europe,  at  the  seasons  when  they  are  places 
of  general  resort.  Take,  for  example,  the  south 
of  Italy  in  winter.  The  reserve  of  the  English, 
the  vivacity  of  the  French,  the  gravity  of  the 
German,  the  ardor  of  the  Italian,  are  there  dis- 
played in  strong  relief;  while  the  eccentricity  of 
the  artist,  the  complacency  of  the  connoisseur,  the 
slavery  of  the  fashionable,  and  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  devotee,  still  more  minutely  subdivide  the 
varied  chapter  of  language  here  displayed.  The 
intonations  and  accents  of  their  various  mother 
tongues,  differ  not  more  palpably  than  do  the 
gestures,  physiognomical  expression  and  manners, 
which  speak  for  them,  and  in  spite  of  them,  to 
the  observant  eye.  Consider  for  a  moment  the 
various  meaning  embodied  in  a  shrug.  A  book 
might  be  written  on  the  science  of  shrugging. 
19* 


222  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  It 's  all  humbug,"  said  a  London  exquisite  to 
his  companion,  as  they  sallied  towards  their  ba- 
rouche from  the  portico  of  the  Pantheon  ;  and  so 
saying,  he  momentarily  lifted  his  shoulders :  it 
was  a  shrug  of  contempt.  "Non  cognosce,  sig- 
nor"  was  the  reply  of  an  Italian,  as  he  gazed 
inquiringly  along  the  streets,  seeking  to  direct  a 
bewildered  stranger,  at  the  same  time  slowly 
raising  his  back  and  lowering  his  chin  :  it  was 
the  shrug  of  indecision.  " Poverino"  ejaculated 
a  Roman  padrona,  as  she  beheld  her  invalid 
lodger  incline  over  a  blazing  fire,  and  left  the  room 
with  a  Richard-like  appearance  about  the  shoul- 
ders, and  an  oscillating  movement  of  the  caput: 
it  was  a  shrug,  which,  being  literally  interpreted, 
signifies,  "  he  is  crazy." 

This  natural  language  is  an  admirable  provi- 
sion for  the  safe  escape  of  dangerous  elements, 
which,  from  their  nature,  must  be  "  wreaked 
upon  expression."  Would  1  could  induce  the 
parliament  of  Great  Britain  to  establish  by  law, 
an  institution  for  the  culture  of  this  human  attri- 
bute, in  which  the  English  nation  are  most  inhu- 
manly deficient.  They  are  blamed,  forsooth,  for 
pugnacious  propensities.  In  the  name  of  common 
sense,  when  a  man  is  so  unused  to  speech,  and  so 
ill-starred  as  to  have  been  born  under  the  heavy 
accents  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  and  thus  precluded 
from  volubility,  and,  when  he  suffers  the  addi- 
tional grievance  of  a  lymphatic  temperament — a 
body  destitute  of  nervous  inspiration,  and  more 


NATURAL  LANGUAGE.  223 

developed  in  the  stomach  or  liver  than  in  the 
heart — what,  I  say,  is  such  a  man  to  do  when 
insulted?  Develope  his  indignation  through  com- 
bativeness,  to  be  sure;  in  other  words,  knock  his 
antagonist  down.  A  Frenchman,  under  such 
circumstances,  might  palaver  till  his  anger  was 
dissolved  in  air,  or  dance  till  it  went  off  in  per- 
spiration ;  a  German  might  have  recourse  to  his 
pipe;  a  Spaniard  to  his  rapier;  but  what  would 
an  excited  son  of  Albion  find  so  convenient  and 
appropriate  as  his  fist  or  foot  1  Nature  will  out ; 
and  until  the  finer  elements  of  the  natural  lan- 
guage are  cultivated  in  Great  Britain,  direct  ap- 
plication of  muscular  force  must  necessarily  take 
the  place  of  the  more  legitimate  modes  of  expres- 
sion, gesticulation,  and  nervous  action. 

This  is  not  mere  theory.  I  have  often  found 
occasion  to  admire  the  beauty,  the  sublime  pru- 
dence involved  in  the  obvious  intentions  of 
nature  in  regard  to  the  expression  of  human 
feeling.  Passion,  of  whatever  kind,  and  howso- 
ever modified,  spontaneously  and  necessarily 
seeks  development.  If  we  would  suffer  its  par- 
oxysms to  subside  gradually  through  their  appro- 
priate channels,  all  would  be  well;  and  this  end, 
1  maintain,  is  signally  subserved  by  the  natural 
language.  Two  of  the  most  baneful  passions  are 
pride  and  anger.  Now,  how  common,  in  this 
country,  is  it  to  see  an  individual,  upon  his  ac- 
cession to  any  station,  office  or  reputation,  assume 
not  only  a  prideful  demeanor,  (which  is  merely 


224  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

negatively  injurious  to  the  community,)  but  a 
supercilious  deportment,  an  utter  and  direct  con- 
tempt for  the  rights  and  feelings  of  others,  which 
is  positively  insulting.  Yet  I  was  rather  enter- 
tained than  angered  at  the  manner  in  which  an 
Italian  displayed  the  importance  he  felt  in  dis- 
charging the  solemn  functions  of  a  letter-dispenser 
in  a  post-office  of  no  common  pretensions.  This 
man  seemed  to  delight  in  pronouncing  his  dictum 
upon  the  momentous  questions  propounded,  often 
from  quivering  Jips  and  with  a  quick  breath, 
through  the  iron  bars  which  separated  him  from 
the  eager  throng.  Habit  had  apparently  rendered 
him  insensible  to  that  part  of  his  duty  which  re- 
quired the  presentation  of  letters;  and  he  ever 
flung  with  indifference  the  longed-for  epistle  be- 
fore the  expectant  inquirer.  Like  most  men  in 
authority,  too,  he  cared  little  to  rule  over  a  fami- 
liar multitude  ;  to  such  as  he  had  given  and  re- 
fused for  years,  he  gave  and  refused  listlessly. 
But  when  a  new  face  appeared  at  the  grate,  and 
a  name  was  pronounced  foreign  to  his  ear,  and 
such  as  he  felt  tolerably  sure  his  eye  had  never 
glanced  upon,  there  was  a  magnificent  exhibition 
of  his  power.  As  deliberately  as  it  was  in  human 
patience  to  suffer,  would  he  pass  letter  after  letter 
under  review,  half  pausing  as  if  in  doubt  occa- 
sionally, while  visions  of  home  were  mingling 
in  the  reveries  of  the  applicant,  with  a  lurking, 
chilling  fear  of  disappointment;  alternating  be- 
tween hope  and  fear  would  the  stranger  watch 


NATURAL  LANGUAGE.  225 

the  slow  motions  of  the  man  of  office,  till  the  pile 
was  neatly  arranged  and  deliberately  transferred 
to  its  pigeon-hole ;  then  turning  towards  him,  as 
to  a  petitioner  at  his  throne,  the  letter-king  would 
smile  at  his  blank  visage,  and  lifting  his  right 
hand,  wave  it,  with  a  provoking  deliberation, 
thrice  to  and  fro,  and  then  slowly  articulate, 
"  Non  c'e  niente,  signer."  The  exquisite  touches 
in  the  natural  language  of  complacency  herein 
discernible  were  truly  indescfibable. 

As  regards  anger,  mark  the  difference  of  its 
display  in  an  Italian  and  an  Englishman  ;  and 
note  the  advantage  which  the  natural  language 
of  the  former  gives  him.  At  a  cafe  in  Florence 
a  Londoner  deemed  himself  slighted  by  one  of 
the  waiters.  The  idea  no  sooner  possessed  him 
than  forthwith  rising,  with  one  blow,  he  levelled 
the  garcon  with  the  floor;  for  which  breach  of 
the  peace  a  month's  imprisonment  was  awarded 
him.  At  a  tratoria  in  the  same  city,  an  Italian, 
after  waiting  half  an  hour  for  a  particular  dish, 
received  it  riot  prepared  according  to  his  wishes, 
whereupon,  being  enraged,  he  started  up,  and 
turning  to  the  attendant,  with  an  air  of  puncti- 
lious politeness,  and  a  voice  attuned  to  the  bitter- 
est irony,  calmly  ejaculated,  Addlo  per  scmprc ; 
(good  bye  forever) — to  which  the  other  replied, 
with  a  countenance  pale  with  rage,  and  a  smile 
of  sardonic  gaiety,  Grazie,  signor.  (thank  you, 
sir.)  The  smile,  the  mock  politeness,  the  ex- 


226  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

pression  of  utter  contempt  manifested  in  the 
posture  and  countenance — in  a  word,  the  natural 
language,  answered  all  the  purpose  of  a  fray. 
On  another  occasion,  however,  I  fully  expected  to 
witness  what  it  has  been  said  is  an  unprecedented 
occurrence — an  Italian  single  handed  fight.  Two 
disputants  were  waging  such  a  war  of  words  in 
the  midst  of  a  crowded  fair,  as  to  attract  univer- 
sal attention.  Approaching  the  parties  as  near  as 
possible,  I  learned  that  the  dispute  involved  a 
point  of  honor;  rage  was  at  fever  heat;  a  throng 
were  gazing  on  the  scene.  In  London,  Dublin, 
or  New  York,  copious  reference  to  the  profane 
vocabulary,  and  a  few  rounds  of  tearing,  scratch- 
ing and  fisting,  would  have  settled  the  matter. 
But  though  arms,  legs  and  heads  were  in  per- 
petual motion,  and  torrents  of  words  poured  forth 
in  a  deafening  and  interminable  stream,  though 
the  combatants  approximated  so  as  to  come  in 
contact ;  yet  this  tremendous  display  of  physical 
energy  produced  no  bloodshed  nor  broken  bones  ; 
it  simply  proved  a  safety-valve.  At  length  the 
crowd  separated  the  parties,  and  their  voices 
obviously  slackened  and  finally  were  almost 
hushed,  when  some  expression  from  one  of  the 
disputants  revived  the  anger  of  the  other.  He 
pressed  back  his  way;  his  opponent  turned;  every 
line  and  hue  betokened  dire  animosity ;  the  crowd 
gave  way,  and  then  closed  about  them.  Now, 
thought  I,  they  must  come  to  blows.  The 


NATURAL  LANGUAGE.  227 

offended  one  rushed  towards  his  antagonist,  drew 
his  tattered  cloak  firmly  over  his  breast,  placed 
his  hat  on  the  ground,  and  then  stepping  back  a 
pace  or  two,  he  flung  himself  on  his  knees  and 
invoked  all  the  saints  to  bear  him  witness  that 
his  adversary  was  a  liar.  Thus  ended  the  Italian 
fight. 

/ 


MY   HOME   ABROAD. 


'  Ah  !  where  shall  I  so  sweet  a  dwelling  find  ! 
For  all  around  without,  and  all  within, 
Nothing  save  what  delightful  was  and  kind, 
Of  goodness  favoring  and  a  tender  mind 
E'er  rose  to  view." 


How  much  to  be  commiserated  is  he  to  whom 
not  a  line  of  the  poetry  of  human  nature  has 
been  directly  revealed;  who  has  never  been 
lured  from  the  sterile  pathway  of  isolated  pursuit 
by  a  flower  that  smiled  up  to  him,  or  a  murmur 
that  fell  soothingly  upon  his  ear;  whose  mind  has 
never  been  charmed  into  blessed  self-forgetfulness, 
by  the  consoling  activity  of  native  sentiment.  It 
was  but  the  impulse  of  inalienable  human  feeling 
which  led  Sterne  to  say,  that  if  he  were  in  a 
desert,  he  would  love  some  cypress;  and  baffled, 
indeed,  must  be  his  spirit  who  has  wandered  to 
and  fro  in  a  peopled  world,  and  found  no  child 
of  humanity  whose  companionship  and  affection 
could  recall  the  simple  joyousness  of  early  and 
unsophisticated  being.  How  much  docs  the  plea- 
20 


230  ITALIAN  SKETCH   BOOK. 

sure  of  a  sojourner  in  the  fairest  lands  depend 
upon  the  position  whence  he  gazes  forth  upon 
their  domain — upon  the  immediate  social  influ- 
ences by  which  he  is  surrounded — upon  his  HOME 
ABROAD  !  How  different  will  be  the  aspect  of  ex- 
ternal nature,  and  the  impressions  of  social  or 
moral  phenomena,  to  the  wanderer  who  looks 
forth  from  his  own  solitary  consciousness,  and  to 
him  who  views  them  through  the  loop-holes  of  a 
domestic  retreat!  This  is  not  a  merely  specula- 
tive suggestion,  as  I  propose  to  illustrate,  if  the 
reader  will  but  pass,  in  fancy,  to  the  favorite  city 
of  Italy,  once  the  scene,  and  at  present  the  wit- 
ness, of  Lorenzo  de  Medici's  authority  and  enter- 
prise. 

The  high  and  dark  buildings  which  line  the 
narrow  and  flag-paved  street  running  from  the 
Piazza  di  Colonna  to  the  Mercato  Nuovo,  render 
its  general  aspect  peculiarly  sombre ;  yet  at  the 
season  when  the  fiery  solar  influence  is  at  its 
height,  it  is  truly  refreshing  to  turn  from  the  daz- 
zling heat  of  the  open  squares  into  these  shady 
by-streets,  so  characteristic  of  the  cities  of  south- 
ern Europe.  The  second  range  of  apartments  of 
one  of  these  edifices  was  occupied  by  a  family 
whose  fortunes  received  their  downfall  under  the 
Napoleon  dynasty.  The  comfortable  and  quiet 
seclusion  adapted  to  their  condition,  succeeded  a 
more  brilliant,  but  perhaps  less  happy  establish- 
ment. At  the  close  of  a  winter's  day  spent  in  the 
delectable  employment  of  inspecting  "  lodgings  for 


MY  HOME  ABROAD.  231 

single  gentlemen,"  I  found  myself  settled  in  one 
of  the  front  rooms  of  this  building — the  domicile 
I  had  at  length  decided  should  be  my  temporary 
abode.  As  I  sat  musingly  before  a  cheerful  wood 
fire,  my  reverie  was  interrupted  by  a  gentle  tap 
at  the  door ;  and  scarcely  had  the  entrate  passed 
my  lips,  when  it  quietly  opened,  and  the  presid- 
ing goddess  of  that  little  world  was  before  me. 
The  countenance  of  Antoinetta  exhibited  features 
so  beautifully  regular,  that  even  when  in  perfect 
repose,  they  would  bear  the  most  critical  perusal. 
But  it  was  when  lit  up  by  a  cheering  smile,  play- 
ing over  and  enlivening  their  bland  expression, 
such  as  they  wore  when  she  thus  broke  in  like 
sunlight  upon  my  misty  day-dreaming,  that  the 
witchery  of  her  eye  and  the  pleasantry  of  her 
air  exerted  their  full  power.  In  the  sweet  accents 
of  her  native  tongue,  she  bade  me  good  evening, 
adding  that  she  had  thought  the  Signer  might 
feel  solitary,  and  had  brought  in  her  muslin  work 
to  sit  an  hour  with  him.  How  thankfully  he 
accepted  the  proposition  need  not  be  related. 
The  converse  of  that  evening  sufficed  for  our 
mutual  understanding.  For,  be  it  known  to  you, 
kind  reader,  that  the  social,  like  the  physical 
atmosphere  of  Italy,  is  wonderfully  insinuating: 
one  discovers  his  adaptation  at  once.  The  Ital- 
ians seem  to  know  intuitively  the  latent  points  of 
sympathy  between  themselves  and  those  with 
whom  they  come  in  contact ;  a  short  time  serves 
either  to  convince  them  that  their  acquaintance 


232  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

never  can  become  a  friend,  or  to  make  him  so 
almost  immediately.  Nor  is  this  all.  Let  a  genu- 
ine Italian  discern  but  the  glimmerings  of  conge- 
nial sentiment,  and  you  have  his  confidence ;  and 
if  there  be  aught  noble  within  you,  the  very  alac- 
rity with  which  you  are  trusted,  will  secure  it 
from  abuse.  My  fair  padrona  was  betrothed  to 
a  countryman  then  in  Britain,  and  her  mother 
had  resigned  to  her  the  duties  of  housewife,  while 
she,  Italian-like,  devoted  her  more  mature  years 
to  the  exercises  of  religion,. and  to  basking  in  the 
sunshine  of  imaginative  enjoyment. 

The  Countess  was  a  genuine  specimen  of  a 
Tuscan  lady  of  the  old  school.  She  still  re- 
tained sufficient  matronly  comeliness  to  attest  her 
youthful  beauty,  and  her  habits  and  conversation 
clearly  evidenced  the  cultivation  of  a  naturally 
good  mind,  and  the  urbanity  of  a  kindly  spirit ; 
yet  withal  was  there  the  strict  devotion  of  the 
Catholic,  and  the  never  absent  enthusiasm  of  the 
Italian.  There  was  a  dignified  earnestness  and 
grace  in  her  manners,  which  almost  insensibly 
inspired  respect  and  interest.  I  could  not  but 
mark  the  different  results  of  a  convent  education 
upon  the  mother  and  daughter.  The  faith  of  the 
former  was  fixed  thereby;  while  the  latter  used 
to  tell  me  that,  until  her  twelfth  year,  having 
lived  chiefly  in  a  nunnery,  she  was  truly  una 
anglola  ;  "but,"  she  added,  "when  I  came  into 
the  world,  I  saw  that  much  of  what  I  had  been 
made  to  believe  was  una  bagatella  ;  I  saw  I  had 


MY  HOME  ABROAD. 


233 


been  imposed  upon,  and  so  I  don't  think  much 
of  the  whole  matter."  A  commentary  this  upon 
anything  like  hood-winking  in  early  education  ! 
The  mother  earnestly  sympathized  with  the  past. 
Her  nobilita,  the  shadowy  remnant  of  former 
days,  was  her  much-loved  and  constant  theme. 
Her  early  and  affectionate  interest  in  me  was  at 
first  unaccountable,  until  I  learned  the  romantic 
sentiments  with  which  the  very  name  of  Ameri- 
can was  associated  in  her  mind.  Her  ideas  on 
this  subject  were  derived,  in  no  small  degree, 
from  the  novels  of  the  Seco-nda  V alter  Scott,  as 
she  called  Cooper,  the  translations  of  which  she 
had  eagerly  pondered ;  and  prejudice  not  a  little 
strengthened  her  partiality,  for  she  declared  that 
the  Italians  were  abused  by  the  French,  and  de- 
spised by  the  English.  But  there  was  yet  an- 
other cause  for  the  good  lady's  maternal  regard — 
for  I  was  ever  spoken  of  as  nostra  Enrichino, 
and  bambino  di  casa,  epithets,  as  the  Italian 
scholar  is  aware,  of  no  small  endearment — she 
had  conceived  the  idea  of  making  me  a  Catholic ; 
and  if  she  failed,  I  was  learned  a  beautiful  lesson 
in  the  art  of  proselyting,  worthy  of  the  pure  spirit 
of  Christianity.  Methinks  I  see  her  now,  that 
ardent  votary  of  the  church,  as,  her  eye  lighted 
up  with  fervent  feeling,  she  poured  forth,  in  mea- 
sured and  liquid  accents,  her  eloquent  appeals. 
Nor  can  I  recall  but  one  instance  when  zeal  be- 
trayed her  into  an  impatient  expression.  A  Ca- 
20* 


234  ITALIAN  SKETCH   BOOK. 

puchin  friar  drew  crowds  to  the  cathedral,  for 
many  days  of  the  holy  week,  and  his  harangues 
were  the  subject  of  general  eulogium.  His  whole 
appearance  betokened  the  practical  devotee  of  the 
Romish  faith.  His  coarse  robe  was  girded  about 
his  waist  by  a  rope,  and  the  cowl  being  thrown 
far  back,  displayed  a  countenance  upon  which 
care  had  traced,  in  withering  lines,  the  marks  of 
premature  age ;  the  hair  fell  thinly  over  high 
temples,  which  shaded  a  face  incessantly  Wear- 
ing an  expression  of  anxious  despondency.  He 
would  walk  to  and  fro,  in  the  marble  pulpit,  ever 
and  -anon  prostrating  himself  before  a  crucifix, 
and  imploring  inspiration,  or  lean  over  and  ear- 
nestly address  his  audience.  To  this  priest  the 
Countess  would  fain  persuade  me  to  repair,  that 
I  might  inquire  and  be  enlightened.  She  de- 
scribed his  benignant  spirit,  his  self-sacrificing 
piety,  and  finally,  his  literary  attainments.  To 
evade  the  suggestion,  I  spoke  of  my  compara- 
tively slight  acquaintance  with  the  language,  and 
my  consequent,  indisposition  to  attempt  contro- 
versy with  so  finished  a  scholar.  She  surveyed 
me  intently,  and  at  length,  half  mournfully,  half 
reproachfully,  exclaimed,  Ecco  il  diavolo.  But 
the  usual  tenor  of  her  efforts  was  so  disinterested, 
and  marked  by  such  delicate  consideration,  that 
I  respected,  spontaneously,  her  advocacy  of  the 
views  she  deemed  so  vitally  true  and  important. 
Indeed,  I  loved  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  so  gentle 


MY  HOiME  ABROAD. 


235 


a  controversialist,  modulated  by  the  true  spirit  of 
human  kindness,  and  inspired  by  an  unaffected 
interest  in  a  stranger's  welfare. 

There  was  a  delightful  characteristic  in  these 
specimens  of  woman  in  Italy  ;  taste  was  subordi- 
nate to  sympathy.  With  all  their  love  of  the 
beautiful — the  idea  of  suffering  most  immediately 
and  permanently  awakened  their  affections.  They 
were  never  weary  of  descanting  upon  my  prede- 
cessor in  the  occupancy  of  their  apartments  ;  and 
I  soon  discovered  that  it  was  the  view  of  his  tears 
shed  over  a  letter,  which  revealed  to  them  the 
cause  of  his  prevailing  sadness,  that  first  drew 
forth  their  kind  regard.  My  quondam  friend  was 
one  of  that  most  curious  species  of  the  genus 
homo,  found  in  Italy — an  artist,  who  had  nur- 
tured a  natural  propensity  to  silent  musing  by 
three  years  of  loitering  in  the  sunny  air  of  Italia. 
Inexplicable  to  them  was  what  they  called  his 
mclanconia,  and  vain  my  asseverations  that  it 
was  merely  a  constitutional  habit ;  no — children 
of  emotion  as  they  were,  it  was  confidently  re- 
ferred to  some  disappointment  of  the  affections, 
and  all  their  kindly  energies  were  bent  to  win  my 
moody  amico  to  hilarity.  Nor  were  their  efforts 
in  vain.  My  lodgings  soon  became  his  favorite 
resort;  and  few  things  drew  him  so  effectually 
from  his  abstraction  as  the  vivacious  chat  of  my 
affable  hostesses. 

I  have  ever  taken  a  kind  of  Epicurean  delight 
in  the  observation  of  my  species;  but  here,  it  was 


236  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

intellectual  character  which  had  been  promi- 
nently displayed;  there,  I  learned  many  a  beautiful 
lesson  in  the  chapter  of  human  sentiment  and 
feeling.  The  icy  partition  of  cautious  reserve 
through  which  one  is  frequently  obliged  to  mark 
the  hearts  workings  in  colder  latitudes,  is,  in 
that  genial  region,  dissolved  by  their  very  inten- 
sity. I  could  sometimes  almost  fancy  myself 
gazing  through  the  vista  of  years  upon  a  kind  of 
primitive  humanity,  in  beholding  the  responses  of 
feeling  vibrating  so  directly  to  the  spell  of  music, 
the  eloquence  of  art,  or  the  impulse  of  poetic  sen- 
timent. I  recognised,  as  never  before, 


'  Thai  secret  spirit  of  humanity, 
Which  'mid  the  calm  oblivious  tendencies 
Of  nature,  'mid  her  plants  and  weeds  and  flowers, 
And  silent  overgrowings,  still  survives.''' 


Happily,  then,  was  I  located  for  experimenting 
in  a  new  field  of  my  favorite  study.  The  Count- 
ess instructed  me  in  the  enthusiasm  of  faith;  the 
Contessina  in  the  poetry  of  life  ;  to  the  one  I  ex- 
pressed my  impressions  of  Italy  as  she  is,  and 
my  reverence  for  her  as  she  was ;  to  the  other  I 
spoke  of  her  absent  betrothed,  and  brought  votive 
offerings  gleaned  from  the  bouquets  of  the  flower- 
girl.  How  have  I  seen  them  start,  and  pale  as 
the  solemn  chant  of  the  morte,  or  the  toll  of  the 
Campanile,  broke  indistinctly  upon  the  ear,  amid 
the  cheerfulness  of  our  evening  coteries  ! — how 


MY  HOME  ABROAD.  237 

have  I  read  the  varying  scenes  of  a  drama  typi- 
fied in  the  meaning  and  rapid  changes  of  their 
expiession  !  Under  their  espionage  did  I  wander 
through  the  verdant  precincts  of  the  palace  gardei 
and  gaze  upon  the  ceremonial  and  the  fete,  and 
they  interpreted  to  me  the  local  characteristics 
of  the  place  and  people.  And  so  weeks  and 
months  glided  on — how  swiftly!  Twice,  in  pre- 
paration for  departure,  was  my  portmanteau  taken 
from  its  dark  corner;  but  it  would  not  do.  The 
Countess  started  back  when  she  beheld  it,  with  a 
sorrowful  exclamation,  and  it  was  consigned  to 
its  former  repose.  At  length  the  spring  had  fairly 
opened,  and  there  was  no  excuse  for  delay.  And 
shall  I  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings  with 
which  I  left  "my  home  abroad?"  No,  it  were 
a  vain  endeavor — for  it  would  require  a  full  de- 
lineation, with  more  than  a  painter's  fidelity,  of 
the  several  elements  which  combined  to  render  it 
a  home  ;  but,  while  all  this  is  waived  in  detail,  it 
is  enbalmed  in  an  affectionate  memory ;  yet  not 
altogether  in  vain,  gentle  reader,  will  you  have 
taken  this  glimpse,  if  it  serve  to  brighten  in  your 
mind  severer  portraitures  of  the  Florentines  of 
the  nineteenth  century. 


THE   AMATEUR. 


•  There  Art  too  shows,  when  Nature's  beauty  palls, 
Her  sculptured  marbles,  and  her  pictured  walls ; 
And  there  are  forms  in  which  they  both  conspire 
To  whisper  themes  that  know  not  how  to  tire  : 
The  speaking  ruins  in  that  gentle  clime 
Have  but  been  hallowed  by  the  hand  of  Time, 
And  each  can  mutely  prompt  some  thought  of  flame— 
The  meanest  stone  is  not  without  a  name." 


As  the  chief  intellectual  influence  of  Italy  is  that 
of  the  fine  arts,  one  of  their  prominent  intellectual 
results  is  to  render  us  amateurs.  Observation  is 
engrossed  with  forms  and  sounds ;  the  eye  and 
ear  evince  a  hitherto  inexperienced  capacity  for 
enjoyment.  The  music — the  universal,  meta- 
physical music  of  the  land — invites  to  the  culti- 
vation of  the  hearing  powers,  and  the  ever-pres- 
ent forms  of  art  lead  to  a  practised  attention  of  the 
visual  organs  ;  so  that  we  find  ourselves  insensi- 
bly drawn  from  the  study  of  social  circumstances, 
to  that  of  influences  far  more  abstract,  but  from 
their  intimate  connection  with  humanity,  with 
genius,  taste  and  feeling,  not  less  rich  in  over- 


240  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

powering  interest.  It  is  indeed  remarkable  under 
how  many  different  aspects  the  studious  observa- 
tion of  the  productions  of  art  ministers  to  mental 
gratification.  They  may  be  regarded  with  the 
eye  of  an  artist,  solely  as  illustrative  of  the  vari- 
ous schools,  or  as  embodying  the  true  principles 
of  his  profession ;  or,  by  the  student  of  human 
nature,  as  affording  a  beautiful  exposition  of  the 
several  epochs  in  the  history  of  the  development 
of  mind ;  while  the  tasteful  votary  of  letters  de- 
lights in  comparing  their  distinctive  characteris- 
tics with  those  of  the  master-spirits  of  our  race, 
whose  thoughts  are  embodied  in  literature.  The 
bold  and  sublime  efforts  of  M.  Angelo,  the  beauti- 
ful expressiveness  of  Raphael,  the  mellow  and 
rich  pencillings  of  Claude,  the  wild  genius  of 
Salvator,  and  the  highly  finished  style  of  Leo- 
nardo, present  to  him  striking  and  interesting 
analogies  with  what  is  familiar  in  the  sister  art 
of  writing.  It  has  been  well  observed,  that  the 
bases  of  these  arts  touch  each  other. 

The  genuine  amateur,  won  by  the  attractions, 
and  attached  by  a  spontaneous  and  intelligent 
sympathy  with  the  delicate  dependencies  and 
distinctions  which  enter  into  the  composition  of 
external  symmetry,  beauty  and  grandeur,  gives 
himself  to  the  study  and  enjoyment  of  the  ab- 
stract and  embodied  principles  of  art.  In  such 
an  one,  the  first  emotions  of  simple  pleasure  have 
expanded  into  profound  and  inspiring  interest, 
and  the  lights  of  acquired  knowledge  and  im- 


THE  AMATEUR.  241 

proving  judgment  have  redoubled  the  primitive 
sentiment  of  pleasure,  derived  from  these  sources. 
Versed  in  the  laws  according  to  which  all  physi- 
cal grace  and  beauty  exist,  accustomed  to  find 
pleasure  in  every  object  which  developes  these, 
and  ever  quick  to  detect  them  wherever  existent, 
the  world  is  to  him  full  of  enjoyment.  Art's 
most  glorious  products  are  as  cherished  friends, 
ever  awakening  satisfaction,  and  affording  conso- 
lation :  blest  with  innumerable  visions  of  beauty, 
garnered  from  imagination's  pencillings,  under 
nature's  tuition,  and  glowing  with  a  deliberate 
enthusiasm,  which  has  become  an  instinctive 
principle,  himself  is  his  greatest  resource.  Nor 
are  such  enjoyments  without  a  favorable  moral 
as  well  as  intellectual  benefit.  The  student  and 
admirer  of  the  noblest  human  productions,  who 
has  become  such  from  native  sentiment  and  dis- 
criminating taste,  is  allied  to  his  race  by  a  new 
and  interesting  bond ;  he  may  be  said,  with  pe- 
culiar truth,  to  love  in  humanity  what  is  truly 
worthy  of  devoted  affect  ion — her  capacity  of  ex- 
alted effort.  And  however  vague  and  ill-sus- 
tained such  a  feeling  may  be  abstractly,  no  regard 
can  be  more  intelligent  and  vivid,  when  cherished 
through  the  medium  of  mind's  most  hallowed 
fruits.  These  give  life  to  and  sustain,  in  the 
devoted  mind,  a  free  and  grateful  respect,  the 
legitimate  spring  of  genuine  philanthropy. 

The  true  amateur,  then,  least  of  all  men,  de- 
serves the  charge  of  unworthy  selfishness.     Few 
•21 


242         ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

obtain  their  ends  with  less  expense  to  their  fellow 
beings,  or  in  the  process  of  self-gratification,  dif- 
fuse happier  influences.  Perception  and  taste,  in 
some  form  or  other,  are  universal,  and  if  nncor- 
rupted,  whatever  be  their  peculiarities,  co-exist 
with  a  high  and  pure  moral  sense. 

Every  magnanimous  spirit  is  rendered  happy 
by  the  just  appreciation  of  the  results  of  mind, 
whatever  be  their  character  or  origin.  A  mere 
general  sentiment  of  approbation  or  censure  in 
relation  to  remarkable  works  of  human  art,  is 
unworthy  a  good  understanding ;  and  while  we 
rejoice  in  liberal  judgments  on  such  subjects,  dis- 
criminating views  are  alone  satisfactory.  Hence 
the  acknowledged  moral  beauty  of  just  criticism  ; 
it  is  the  only  true  praise,  the  only  improving 
censure.  Happy,  therefore,  is  it,  that  there  are 
men  so  constituted  as  to  find  much  of  their  hap- 
piness in  the  noble  duties  of  a  genuine  amateur : 
men  who  rejoice  in  the  deliberate  indulgence  of 
their  intellectual  tastes  more  than  in  devoting 
them,  with  a  fatal  exclusiveness,  to  the  purposes 
of  ambition ;  who  become,  as  it  were,  the  high- 
priests  of  art,  and  in  their  studious  and  sincere 
devotion,  waft  the  most  acceptable  incense  to  the 
spirit  of  genius. 


A  GLIMPSE  AT  BASIL  HALL. 


"  Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act." 


AT  the  palace  of  the  prince  Borghese  in  Rome, 
several  young  English  and  American  artists  were 
engaged  in  copying  the  renowned  productions  of 
the  old  masters.  Portray  to  yourself,  kind  read- 
er, two  large  halls,  the  walls  of  which  are  lined 
with  paintings,  and  intercommunicating  by  a  side- 
door,  now  thrown  open  for  the  benefit  of  the  par- 
ties. In  the  first  of  these  apartments  are  erected 
three  easels,  before  which,  in  the  attitude  of 
painters,  stand — first  a  Virginian,  intent  upon  the 
exquisite  Magdalen  of  Correggio — opposite,  the 
native  of  a  country  town  of  Great  Britain,  trans- 
ferring, as  nearly  as  possible,  the  Prodigal  Son 
of  the  great  Venetian — while,  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  former,  a  Londoner  is  travailing  for  the  in- 
spiration of  Titian,  by  contemplating  his  "  Sacred 
and  Profane  Loves."  The  artists  may  thus  be 
said  to  occupy,  relatively,  the  three  points  of  an 
isosceles  triangle.  Gaze  now,  through  the  above- 


244  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

mentioned  passage,  and  behold,  at  the  extremity 
of  the  second  and  lesser  hall,  the  figure  of  a  Bal- 
timorean — fancying,  perchance,  the  surprise  of 
the  natives  when  they  see  his  copy  of  the  inimi- 
table Cupid  beside  him. 

These  worthy  followers  of  the  rainbow  art 
were  wont  to  amuse  themselves,  and  beguile  the 
time,  with  conversations  upon  the  merits  and 
manners  of  their  respective  countries  ;  and  occa- 
sionally, by  a  very  natural  process,  such  amica- 
ble debates  would  assume  not  a  little  of  the  earnest 
spirit  of  controversy.  Then  would  the  brush  fall 
less  frequently  upon  the  canvass,  the  eye  linger 
less  devotedly  upon  the  great  originals  around, 
and,  ever  and  anon,  the  disputants  would  step  a 
pace  or  two  from  the  object  of  their  labors,  raise 
aloft  their  pencils,  as  if,  like  the  style  of  the  an- 
cients, they  subserved  equally  the  purposes  of  art 
and  of  warfare,  or  wave  their  mottled  palettes  as 
shields  against  the  arrows  of  argument.  A  full 
history  of  these  discussions — hallowed  by  the 
scene  of  the  combat,  diversified  by  the  characters 
of  the  combatants,  and  dignified  by  the  nature  of 
the  points  contested — would  doubtless  be  a  valua- 
ble accession  to  our  literature.  The  great  topics 
of  national  policy,  domestic  manners,  republican- 
ism, aristocracy,  slavery,  corn  laws,  &c.,  as  un- 
folded in  the  elegant  and  discerning  disputations 
of  the  absentees  in  a  Roman  palace,  would  prove 
something  new,  vivid,  and  seasonable.  But  to 
me  falls  the  humbler  task  of  narrating  one  scene 


A  GLIMPSE  AT  BASIL  HALL.  g4o 

of  the  drama,  as  illustrative  of  the  wisdom  and 
safety  of  the  advice  of  Polonius. 

On  a  day  when  the  war  of  words  had  run  un- 
usually high,  there  was  a  momentary,  and.  as  it 
were,  a  spontaneous  quietude.  After  the  manner 
of  their  predecessors  in  the  same  city,  years  by- 
gone, the  gladiators  rested  upon  their  arms. 
There  was  an  interlude  of  silence.  They  gradu- 
ally re-assumed  the  appropriate  occupations  of  the 
hour ;  and  a  few  unusually  fine  touches  were  be- 
stowed upon  the  slowly-progressing  copies,  when 
the  aspiring  portrayer  of  the  beautiful  parable 
thus  opened  a  new  cannonade  : 

"Well,  smooth  over,  as  you  may,  the  blot  of 
slavery,  and  deny  or  palliate,  as  you  best  can. 
the  charge  of  non-refinement,  the  world  will 
never  admit  the  existence  of  true  civilization  in  a 
country  where  so  barbaric  a  practice  as  gouging 
prevails." 

At  the  commencement  of  this  speech,  the  pencil 
of  the  Virginian  had  stopped  transfixed  within  an 
inch  of  the  pensive  countenance  on  his  canvass; 
and  with  nerves  braced  in  expectancy,  he  awaited 
the  issue.  And  when  the  orator,  like  a  second 
Brutus,  paused  for  a  reply,  his  adversary  was 
mute — perhaps  from  indignation,  probably  in  the 
absorption  consequent  upon  preparing  to  refute 
and  chastise.  The  Londoner  wheeled  around, 
and,  with  a  nod  of  congratulation  to  his  brother- 
islander,  and  a  provoking  and  triumphant  smile 
upon  the  Virginian,  begged  to  be  informed  "  of 
21 » 


246  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

the  origin  and  nature  of  the  American  custom  of 
gouging?"  When,  lo  !  there  were  heard  quick 
steps  along  the  polished  floors,  and  as  the  eyes  of 
the  artists  followed  their  direction,  the  form  of 
the  Baltimorean  emerged  from  the  adjoining  hall. 
His  painter's  stick,  palette,  and  brush,  were 
grasped  convulsively  in  his  left  hand,  as  with 
energetic  strides  he  reached  the  centre  of  the 
arena,  and  gazed  meaningly  upon  the  disputants. 

"You  would  know,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  eyeing 
fiercely  the  hero  of  the  British  capital,  "  what  is 
gouging?  Go,  sir,  to  Basil  Hall — your  literary 
countryman;  when  ascending  the  Mississippi,  he 
was  put  on  shore  by  the  captain  of  a  steamboat 
for  ungentlemanly  deportment — and  on  the  banks 
of  that  river,  sir,  he  was  gouged!"  As  the  last 
emphatic  words  exploded,  a  gentleman,  who 
had  been  viewing  the  paintings,  abruptly  left 
the  room.  The  Londoner  looked  wonders — his 
compatriot  tittered — the  Cupid-limner  wiped  his 
brow. 

"Who  was  that?"  inquired  the  Virginian. 

"  That,  sir,  was  Captain  Hall !  " 


THE   OPERA. 


••'  Can  it  be  said,  that  there  is  such  an  art  as  that  of  music  for  those 
who  cannot  fee]  enthusiasm  ?  Habit  may  render  harmonious  sounds  as 
it  were  a  necessary  gratification  to  them,  and  they  enjoy  them  as  they 
admire  the  flavor  of  fruits  or  the  ornament  of  colors  ;  but  has  their 
whole  being  vibrated  and  trembled  responsively,  like  a  lyre,  if,  at  any 
time,  the  midnight  silence  has  been  broken  by  the  song,  or  by  any  of 
those  instruments  which  resemble  the  human  voice  ?  Have  they  in  that 
moment  felt  the  mystery  of  their  existence,  in  that  softening  emotion 
which  re-unites  our  separate  natures,  and  blends  in  the  same  enjoyment 
the  senses  and  the  soul  ? " 


WERE  it  only  that  the  opera,  like  every  national 
entertainment,  is  typical  of  the  general  taste,  and 
in  Italy  affords  the  most  free  arena  for  talent,  to 
an  observant  traveller  it  must  be  highly  impor- 
tant ;  but  it  is  by  the  strong  constraint  of  earnest 
sympathy  that  I  dwell  upon  its  character  and  in- 
fluences. In  point  of  excellence,  simply  as  a 
popular  diversion,  it  is  unrivalled ;  and  the  chief, 
if  not  the  only  exception,  which  can  be  made  to 
its  detriment,  springs  from  the  deficiencies,  not  of 
the  amusement,  but  of  those  to  whose  good  it  is 
designed  to  minister.  For  the  want  alike  of  that 
physical  organization  upon  which  the  pleasure 
derivable  from  music  depends,  or  of  the  sentiment 


248  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

and  feeling,  according  to  which  that  pleasure  is 
bounded,  must  equally  be  denominated  deficien- 
cies, since  they  bar  a  species  of  gratification  as 
refined  as  it  is  rich  and  absorbing. 

But  it  were  indeed  unjust  to  truth  and  human 
nature,  to  regard  the  opera,  in  its  genuineness, 
solely  as  one  of  those  means  which  the  selfish  in- 
genuity of  man  has  contrived  for  occupying  or 
even  solacing  the  intervals  of  active  existence. 
Its  origin  and  legitimate  intent  are  far  higher  and 
better;  and  although  many  may  avail  themselves 
of  it  for  purposes  of  convenience,  or  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  that  restless  craving  for  fashionable 
baubles,  which  is  the  besetting  sin  of  the  thought- 
less, there  are,  and  must  ever  be,  better  spirits  to 
whom  justice  will  refer  its  claims. 

As  a  subject  merely  of  speculation,  the  opera 
might  be  deemed  an  unphilosophical  representa- 
tion of  humanity.  As  her  master  passions  are 
ever  developed  at  once  and  fervently,  the  idea  of 
exhibiting  them  through  the  regular  and  mea- 
sured medium  of  song,  would  seem  essentially 
unnatural.  Yet,  as  it  is  impossible  in  the  drama 
to  render  the  illusion  complete — as  in  the  most 
perfect  efforts  of  the  dramatist  and  the  actor,  the 
unreal  is  palpably  evident — in  adopting  a  more 
deliberate  and  pre-determined  form  of  expression, 
nothing  of  imitative  excellence  is  lost,  while,  in 
general  effect,  much  is  gained.  In  the  opera,  art 
and  nature  unite  in  their  highest  excellence. 
There  is  all  the  power  of  stage  effect,  the  Ian- 


THE  OPERA. 


249 


guage  of  gestures  and  expression,  the  conven- 
tional paraphernalia  of  the  theatre,  with  the  super- 
added  power  of  the  most  expressive  melody — lha* 
of  the  human  voice  exerted  to  the  highest  poin; 
of  its  natural  capacity,  and  cultivated  by  the  in- 
tervention of  one  of  the  most  scientific  and  ardu- 
ous of  studies,  to  a  degree  almost  incredible. 

If  speech  is  the  readiest  means  of  moral  expres- 
sion, and  what  has  been  termed  the  natural  lan- 
guage the  most  unstudied  and  apposite,  music,  the 
breathing  forth  of  the  spirit  in  song,  is  the  most 
spiritual,  and  therefore,  more  beautifully  and 
delicately  typical  of  the  varying  emotions  which 
inspire  it.  To  this  form  of  expression  we  turn 
not,  indeed,  in  the  most  passionate  moments  of 
experience,  but  when  to  these  the  calmer  mood 
has  succeeded,  when  love  begins  to  assume  the 
settled  and  deep  character  of  a  passion,  when  the 
shock  of  grief  has  given  way  to  its  calm  sadness, 
and  kindling  hope  slowly  lessens  the  early  heavi- 
ness of  disappointment,  when  the  quiverings  of 
indecision  have  become  composed  into  clear  fixed- 
ness of  purpose,  and  the  sense  of  overwhelming 
joy  is  fast  losing  itself  in  the  deep  peace  of  con- 
scious happiness — in  such  ultimate  stages  of  the 
passions,  when  their  restless  elements  have  be- 
come, in  a  measure,  tranquillized,  and  their  lan- 
guage more  deliberate,  then  is  it  wont  to  pour 
itself  forth  in  measured,  but  moving  song.  And 
if,  in  the  opera,  the  limits  of  this  natural  order 
are  occasionally  exceeded,  what  is  it  but  an 


250  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

exercise  of  that  poetical  license,  upon  which  even 
philosophy  must  contentedly  smile  1 

The  opera  is  the  grand  result  of  a  general  and 
discriminating  passion  for  music.  Without  such  a 
proximate  cause,  its  existence  is  truly  impossible. 
It  is  this  which  gives  rise  to  and  sustains,  not  only 
the  institution,  but  that  remarkable  and  scarcely 
appreciated  talent  which  is  its  vital  principle.  It 
has  ever  been  more  or  less  the  custom,  even  in 
the  most  civilized  communities,  to  regard  those 
individuals  whose  lives  are  devoted,  and  whose 
present  happiness  is  invo  ved,  in  thus  ministering 
to  the  general  pleasure,  with  any  sentiment  rather 
than  that  of  grateful  respect.  The  evidence  of  this 
is  to  be  found  in  the  actual  moral  rank  assigned 
to  such  a  profession,  and  its  cause  is  too  often, 
doubtless,  attributable  to  want  of  character  in 
the  members,  and  to  that  proverbial  capricious- 
ness  whieh  society  ever  evinces  in  relation  to 
those  professedly  devoted  to  its  diversion.  The 
actual  sympathy  and  respectful  consideration 
cherished  and  manifested  by  the  Italians  for  their 
favorite  entertainment,  and  its  worthy  children, 
is  most  interestingly  obvious  to  a  stranger.  It  is, 
too,  delightful  to  observe  the  conduct,  the  effect, 
all  the  phenomena  of  an  Italian  opera.  Evening 
after  evening  we  behold  the  same  countenances 
intently  studious  of  the  performance,  the  same 
votaries  luxuriating  in  melody,  criticising  intona- 
tions— Epicureans  at  the  banquet  of  Euterpe. 
So  well  regulated  is  the  police,  and  so  genuine 

'   •   *J  -         ""Jfchr 

...         '       - 

>K          '* 


THE  OPERA.  251 

and  universal  the  taste  for  music,  that  order, 
attention  and  quiet  are  effectually  secured.  The 
audience,  indeed,  go  thither  to  partake  of  an 
habitual  gratification.  No  sound  but  a  brava 
spoken,  as  by  one  deep  voice  during  a  momen- 
tary pause,  or  the  full  burst  of  general  approval, 
interrupts  the  pervading  silence. 

And  what  the  general  will  of  a  people  supports, 
equally  in  the  way  of  amusement  as  in  the  graver 
concerns  of  life,  must  bear  the  impress  of  national 
character,  and  for  this,  if  for  no  other  reason, 
should  merit  respect.  This  is  singularly  true  in 
relation  to  the  opera.  Happy  is  that  people 
whose  taste  has  induced,  whose  discrimination 
has  improved,  and  whose  characteristic  interest 
well  sustains  this  morally  beautiful  entertainment. 

To  define  justly  the  surpassing  charms  of  Ital- 
ian vocal  music  is  indeed  impossible  ;  and  yet.  if 
in  so  entrancing  a  pleasure  as  that  derivable  from 
this  source,  self-analysis  be  practicable,  perhaps  it 
will  be  discovered  that  in  this,  above  most  other 
species  of  melody,  all  the  faculties  are  gratified. 
The  ingenious  combinations  and  intricate  art  de- 
light the  mental  perceptions,  its  unanticipated 
variations  and  undiscernible  power  and  facility 
of  development  captivate  the  imagination,  while 
passion  is  excited  by  the  imperceptible  encroach- 
ments of  its  enchanting  harmony  over  the  empire 
of  the  heart.  There  is  indeed  a  kind  of  univer- 
sality in  this  singular,  this  unequalled  vocalisrn. 
The  heart  often  beats  with  eager  enthusiasm. 


252  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

when  the  notes  of  martial  music  swell  upon  the 
air,  an  elevating  sense  of  grandeur  is  awakened 
by  the  deep  tones  of  a  sacred  choir,  and  a 
national  air  or  household  stave,  by  the  force  of 
association,  will  electrify  the  auditor.  Yet  some- 
thing of  all  these  effects,  and  something  beyond 
and  above  all  of  them,  can  faithful  introspection 
detect  in  the  bosom  agitated,  soothed,  inspired  by 
the  higher  efforts  of  an  Italian  professor. 

To  the  susceptible  student  of  its  influences,  the 
opera,  in  its  perfection,  is  a  poetical  representation 
of  the  deep  things  of  life — of  those  passions  which 
operate  most  powerfully  and  universally  in  the 
human  heart — of  that  mysterious  and  intricate 
connection  between  motive  and  action,  sentiment 
and  thought,  imagination  and  truth,  which  in  its 
development,  constitutes  the  living  poetry  of  our 
being.  Such  an  one  understands  the  mental  ex- 
perience of  Alfieri,  who  says  that  the  plots  of 
some  of  his  best  tragedies  were  conceived  while 
listening  to  the  grand  opera.  And  what  medium 
like  music — music  with  all  its  depth  and  pathos, 
all  its  subtlety  and  infinity  of  expression,  all  its 
spiritual  magnetism — for  portraying  to  the  heart 
its  own  indescribable  capacity  of  feeling  ?  And 
what  an  order  of  talent  is  that,  which  can  suc- 
cessfully wield  the  power  of  expression  requisite 
for  a  genuine  opera  performer  ! 

The  votary  of  imaginative  and  intellectual 
happiness  finds  in  this  pleasure  a  satisfaction 
similar  in  kind,  though  much  more  exalted,  to 


THE  OPERA.  253 

that  which  the  lover  of  physical  science  discovers 
in  analyzing  and  combining  the  elements  of 
matter.  There  is  the  same  eager  delight,  which 
springs  from  the  vivid  knowledge  acquired  only 
by  searching  and  successful  experiment ;  but  it  is 
experiment  upon  self — not  that  which  developes 
the  anatomical  relations  of  the  body,  but  that 
which  lays  open,  by  a  beautiful  process  of  ex- 
citation, the  delicate  machinery  of  the  inner  and 
unseen  being;  it  is  the  yielding  np  of  one's  na- 
tive sentiment  to  the  heavenly  sway  of  the  deep- 
est melody,  till  its  elements  dissolve  and  combine 
in  all  the  purest  and  most  perfect  forms  of  emo- 
tion. How  palpable  to  the  heart  becomes  its 
capacity  of  love,  in  all  its  endless  modifications  ! 
and  how  keenly  brilliant  to  the  imagination  shine 
its  own  magic  energies,  when  both  are  bathed, 
excited,  dissolved  within  the  limitless  scope  of 
deeply  undulating  music ! 


2-2 


GREENOUGH. 


'•  There  be  more  tilings  to  greet  the  heart  and  eyes 
In  Arno's  dome  of  Art's  most  princely  shrine, 
Where  sculpture  with  her  rainbow  sister  vies." 


ON  one  of  the  .last  afternoons  preceding  my  em- 
barkation, I  had  sat  a  long  hour  opposite  a  strik- 
ing, though  by  no  means  faithful,  portrait  of 
Greenough,  while  one  of  the  fairest  of  his  kindred 
spoke  fondly  of  him,  and  charged  me  with  many 
a  message  of  love  for  the  gifted  absentee.  On  a 
table  beneath  the  picture  stood  one  of  the  earliest 
products  of  his  chisel.  I  glanced  from  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  young  sculptor,  to  the  evidence  of 
his  dawning  genius;  I  listened  to  the  story  of  his 
exile;  and  thenceforth  he  was  enshrined  high  and 
brightly  among  the  ideals  of  my  heart.  With 
rapid  steps,  therefore,  the  morning  after  my  arri- 
val in  Florence,  1  threaded  the  narrow  thorough- 
fare, passed  the  gigantic  cathedral,  nor  turned 
aside  till,  from  the  top  of  a  long  and  quiet  street, 
I  discerned  the  archway  which  led  to  the  domi- 


256  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

cile  of  my  countryman.  Associations  arose  within 
me,  such  as  the  time-hallowed  and  novel  objects 
around  failed  to  inspire.  There  was  something 
intensely  interesting  in  the  idea  of  visiting  the 
isolated  sanctum  of  a  votary  of  sculpture,  to  one 
who  was  fresh  from  the  stirring  atmosphere  of  his 
native  metropolis.  Traversing  the  court  and 
stairway,  I  could  but  scan  the  huge  fragments  of 
marble  that  lined  them,  ere  entering  a  side  door, 
I  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  the  artist.  He 
was  seated  beside  a  platform,  contemplating  an 
unfinished  model,  which  bore  the  impress  of  re- 
cent moulding.  In  an  adjoining  apartment  was 
the  group  of  the  Guardian  Angel  and  Child — the 
countenances  already  radiant  with  distinctive  and 
touching  loveliness,  and  the  limbs  exhibiting  their 
perfect  contour,  although  the  more  graceful  and 
delicate  lines  were  as  yet  undeveloped.  One  by 
one  I  recognized  the' various  plaster  casts  about 
the  room — mementos  of  his  former  labors.  My 
eye  fell  on  a  bust  which  awakened  sea-pictures — 
the  spars  of  an  elegant  craft,  the  lofty  figure  of 
a  boatswain,  the  dignified  bearing  of  a  mysterious 
pilot.  It  was  the  physiognomy  of  Cooper.  And 
yon  original,  arch  looking  gentleman  ?  Ah  !  that 
can  be  no  other  than  Francis  Alexander.  Surely 
those  Adonis-like  ringlets,  so  daintily  carved, 
belong  to  one  whom  it  is  most  pleasing  to  remem- 
ber as  the  writer  of  some  exquisite  verses  under 
the  signature  of  Roy.  No  one  can  mistake  the 
benevolent  features  of  Lafayette,  or  the  expressive 


GREENOUGH. 


257 


image  of  the  noble  pilgrim-bard;  or  fail  to  linger 
in  the  corridor,  over  the  embodiment  of  one  of  his 
fairest  creations — the  figure  of  the  dead  Medora. 
In  other  studios  of  the  land  I  beheld  a  more  nu- 
merous and  imposing  array ;  but  in  none  could  I 
discover  more  of  that  individuality  of  design  and 
execution  which  characterises  native  intellectual 
results. 

Coleridge's  favorite  prescription  for  youthful 
atheism  was  love  ;  on  the  same  principle  would 
we  commend  to  the  admiration  of  the  scoffer  at  a 
spiritual  philosophy,  the  unwavering  and  martyr- 
like  progress  of  genius  toward  its  legitimate  end. 
In  this  characteristic,  the  course  of  all  gifted  be- 
ings agree.  They  have  a  mission  to  fulfil ;  and 
lured  betimes,  as  they  may  be.  by  the  flowers  of 
the  way-side,  and  baffled  awhile,  as  is  the  destiny 
of  man,  by  vicissitude — from  first  to  last  the 
native  impulse,  the  true  direction,  is  everywhere 
discernible.  In  the  case  of  Greenough,  this  defi- 
niteness  of  aim,  this  solemnity  of  determination,  if 
we  may  so  call  it,  is  beautifully  evident.  The 
waxen  carriages  he  wrought  in  the  intervals  of 
school  discipline,  the  wooden  cimeters  he  carved 
for  his  play-fellows,  and  his  chalk  statue  of  Wil- 
liam Penn — the  first  absolute  development  of  his 
taste — these  efforts  will  serve  as  the  "early  indi- 
cations" to  which  biographers  are  so  partial. 
Often  did  he  pay  the  penalty  of  tardiness,  by 
lingering  to  gaze  at  a  wooden  eagle  which  sur- 
mounted the  gateway  of  an  old  edifice  he  daily 
22* 


258  ITALIAN   SKETCH  BOOK. 

passed — thinking,  as  he  told  me,  how  beautiful  it 
must  be  to  carve  such  an  one.  But  it  was  not 
until  boyhood  was  merged  in  youth,  that  the 
deep  purpose  of  heart  distinctly  presented  itself. 
Happy  was  it  that  at  this  critical  moment,  an 
intellectual  benefactor  stood  by  to  encourage  and 
direct  the  youthful  aspirant.  Thrice  happy  for 
Greenongh,  that  one  equal  to  the  appreciation  of 
his  mind,  and  able  auspiciously  to  sway  its  ener- 
gies, proved  his  friend.  Such  a  Mentor  he  found 
in  Washington  Allston.  And,  in  this  connection, 
we  cannot  forbear  hazarding  the  inquiry — Why 
has  not  the  liberal  discernment  of  our  community, 
ere  this,  given  this  distinguished  artist  the  power 
of  dispensing  similar  benefits  to  others  who  might 
equally  reward  and  honor  the  obligation?  Will 
it  not,  at  some  future  day,  be  considered  one  of 
the  anomalies  of  the  times,  that  a  highly  gifted 
proficient  in  the  philosophy  of  art  was  suffered  to 
live,  in  comparative  obscurity,  within  hail  of  our 
richly  endowed  University,  without  that  institu- 
tion being  favored  with  the  results  of  his  mind  on 
this  ennobling  subject  ? 

When  Greeriough  arrived  in  Genoa  he  was  yet 
in  his  minority.  He  entered  a  church.  A  statue, 
more  perfect  than  he  had  ever  beheld,  met  his 
eye.  With  wonder  he  saw  hundreds  pass  it  by, 
without  bestowing  even  a  glance.  He  gazed  in 
admiration  on  the  work  of  art,  and  marked  the 
careless  crowd,  till  a  new  and  painful  train  of 
thoughts  was  suggested.  "What!"  he  solilo- 


GREENOUGH.  259 

quized,  i;  are  the  multitude  so  accustomed  to 
beautiful  statues  that  even  this  fails  to  excite 
their  passing  notice  '.*  How  presumptuous,  then, 
in  me,  to  hope  to  accomplish  aught  worthy  of  the 
art !  "  He  was  deeply  moved,  as  the  distance 
between  him  and  the  goal  he  had  fondly  hoped  to 
reach,  widened  to  his  view;  and  concealing  him- 
self among  the  rubbish  of  a  palace-yard,  the 
young  and  ardent  exile  sought  relief  in  tears. 
UO,  genius!"  I  musingly  exclaimed,  as  I  went 
forth  with  this  anecdote  fresh  from  his  lips,  "how 
mysterious  thou  art !  And  yet  how  identical  are 
the  characteristics  of  thy  children !  Susceptible 
and  self-distrusting,  and  yet  vividly  conscious  of 
high  endowments — mighty  to  execute  and  quick 
to  feel — pressing  on  amid  the  winning  voices  of 
human  allurements,  or  the  wailing  cry  of  human 
weakness  and  want — as  pilgrims  bent  on  an 
errand  of  more  than  earthly  import — ever  pil- 
grims through  a  night  of  dimness  and  trial,  and 
yet  ever  beholding  the  star,  hearing  the  angel- 
choir,  and  hastening  on  to  worship  !  " 

On  one  of  the  most  delicious  evenings  of  my 
sojourn,  I  accompanied  Greenough  to  the  studio 
where  he  proposed  to  erect  his  statue  of  Wash- 
ington. It  was  a  pretty  edifice,  which  had  been 
formerly  used  as  a  chapel;  arid  from  its  commo- 
dious size  and  retired  situation,  seemed  admirably 
adapted  to  his  purpose.  The  softened  effulgence 
of  an  Italian  twilight  glimmered  through  the 
high  windows,  and  the  quiet  of  the  house  was 


260  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

invaded  only  by  distant  rural  sounds,  and  the 
rustling  of  the  nearest  foliage  in  the  new-born 
breeze.  There  was  that  in  the  scene  and  its 
suggestions  which  gratified  my  imagination.  I 
thought  of  the  long  and  soothing  days  of  ap- 
proaching summer,  which  my  companion  would 
devote,  in  this  solitary  and  beautiful  retreat,  to 
his  noble  enterprize.  I  silently  rejoiced,  that  the 
blessed  ministry  of  nature  would  be  around  him, 
to  solace,  cheer  and  inspire,  when  his  energies 
were  bending  to  their  glorious  task ;  that  when 
weariness  fell  upon  his  spirit,  he  could  step  at 
once  into  the  luxurious  air,  and  look  up  to  the 
deep  green  cypresses  of  Fiesole,  or  bare  his  brow 
to  the  mountain  breeze,  and  find  refreshment ; — 
that  when  doubt  and  perplexity  baffled  his  zeal, 
he  might  gaze  towards  the  palace  roofs  and 
church  domes  of  Florence,  and  recall  the  trophies 
of  art  wrought  out  by  travail,  misgivings  and 
care,  that  are  garnered  beneath  them ; — that 
when  his  hope  of  success  should  grow  faint,  he 
might  suspend  the  chisel's  movement,  raise  his 
eye  to  the  western  horizon,  and  remember  the 
land  for  which  he  toiled. 

Thus  musing,  I  perused  the  thoughtful  coun- 
tenance of  the  sculptor,  and  fancied  the  tenor  of 
his  reflections,  as  he  stood  thus  on  the  appointed 
scene  of  his  labors.  Men  conscious  merely  of 
ordinary  or  selfish  motives,  can  enter  upon  any 
undertaking  with  thoughtless  alacrity;  but  when 
a  human  being  is  about  to  put  forth  his  strength 


GREENOUGH.  261 

for  posterity — to  embody  an  idea,  sentiment  or 
theory  dear  to  man — whether  it  he  in  the  flexible 
frame-work  of  language,  or  the  glowing  delinea- 
tion of  the  pencil,  or  whether  he 


"  fix  thought,  heart,  soul,  mind, 

To  burn,  to  shine  through  the  pale  marble  veins," 


lie  must  be  conscious,  if  in  anywise  worthy  of 
his  vocation,  of  profound  solicitude,  as  well  as 
high  and  hopeful  aspirations.  Such  contending 
emotions  I  imagined  were  then  at  work  in  the 
generous  bosom  of  my  friend,  and  ardently  did  I 
hope  for  the  triumph  of  the  latter.  May  sculp- 
ture smile  upon  her  devotee  of  the  new  world ! 
may  the  benignant  countenance  of  Washington 
beam  with  life-like  vividness  in  the  visions  of  the 
artist,  and  his  image  emerge  nobly  from  its  mar- 
ble sleep,  unspotted  by  any  envious  stain  !  firm 
be  the  hand,  and  clear  the  spirit  of  the  sculptor, 
till  his  great  work  be  completed  ;  and  long  may 
it  stand,  a  proud  monument  to  his  genius. 


MODERN   ITALY. 


"  We  admire  thee  now 
As  we  admire  the  beautiful  in  death. 
But  why  despair  ?     Twice  hast  thou  lived  already. 
Twice  shone  amid  the  nations  of  the  earth 
As  the  sun  shines  among  the  lesser  lights  of  heaven.' 


THE  manners  and  morals  of  Italy,  like  the  same 
characteristics  of  other  countries,  are  sometimes 
condemned,  without  discrimination,  even  by  in- 
telligent as  well  as  virtuous  men.  Yet  not  only 
should  the  general  fact,  that  the  intercourse  of 
travellers  is  usually  limited  to  the  extreme  exem- 
plars of  the  population  of  a  country,  be  kept  in 
view,  in  judging  of  character  in  Italy ;  let  it  be 
also  borne  in  mind  that  the  choicest  spirits  of  a 
nation,  in  such  a  political  condition,  are  often 
found  only  in  the  shades  of  retirement  at  home, 
or  enduring  voluntary  exile  in  a  foreign  land. 
"Character,"  says  a  distinguished  authoress,  "is 
an  instinct;  it  is  more  allied  with  nature  than  the 
understanding  ;  and  yet  circumstances  alone  give 
men  the  opportunity  of  developing  it."  And  to 


204  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

the  sojourner  in  Italy,  who  marks  the  unfolding 
of  this  instinct,  where  it  is  most  truly  and 
natively  developed,  in  that  inner  tabernacle  of 
life  which  we  call  home,  will  be  revealed  such 
qualities  of  humanity  as  are  rarely,  if  ever, 
known  in  equal  freshness  and  beauty.  The 
modern  Italian  character  is  far  more  intimately 
associated,  in  my  mind,  with  the  memory  of  acts 
and  sympathies  of  rare  urbanity  and  friendliness, 
than  with  the  by-way  specimens  of  imposition 
and  mendicity,  with  which  travellers  seem  to 
delight  in  interlarding  their  journals.  He  who, 
in  estimating  character,  attaches  due  importance 
to  what  have  been  philosophically  denominated 
the  affective  powers,  will  scarcely  dwell  despair- 
ingly upon  the  characteristics  even  of  the  present 
inhabitants  of  Italy.  They  are,  in  truth,  the 
children  of  feeling.  And  hence  we  find  the  un- 
educated peasantry  and  artisans  appreciating  and 
relishing,  often  most  enthusiastically,  the  poetry 
and  music  of  their  country.  The  modification  of 
Petrarch's  sonnets,  and  their  becoming  popular 
simply  in  an  oral  form,  is  a  phenomenon  explica- 
ble only  on  the  ground  of  a  national  taste  and 
enthusiasm.  Nor  have  these  general  features 
ceased  to  be.  Although  "silent  rows  the  songless 
gondolier,"  the  stanzas  of  Tasso  are  not  forgotten 
in  Venice,  nor  does  Ariosto  cease  to  amuse  the 
crowd  on  the  Mole  at  Naples.  If,  therefore,  one 
who  mixes  with  the  multitude,  adapting  himself 
sufficiently  to  their  temperament  and  modes  of 


MODERN  ITALY. 


2C5 


expression,  who  goes  with  them  to  the  opera  and 
the  festival,  and  especially,  is  brought  near  them 
in  the  family,  fails  to  discover  and  feel  a  remarka- 
ble degree  of  the  pure  spirit  of  human  brother- 
hood, such  as  shall  impress  his  heart  and  win 
him  from  his  prejudices,  we  think  his  experience 
must  be  singularly  unfortunate. 

Certain  it  is,  indeed,  that  the  intellectual  charms, 
the  religious  graces,  the  native  modesty,  which 
are  the  glory  of  the  American  female  character, 
are  sometimes  wanting  ;  and  yet,  in  frequent  in- 
stances, one  cannot  but  feel  baffled  in  an  attempt 
to  point  out  their  opposites.  There  is  often  a 
rich  and  perfect  susceptibility,  without  any  great 
depth  of  sentiment ;  there  is  a  spirit  of  affection- 
ate kindness,  but  its  extension  is  seemingly  a 
kind  of  constitutional  habit ;  there  is  a  pride 
without  true  dignity,  and  an  open,  playful,  genu- 
ine nature,  which  yet  we  are  almost  persuaded, 
but  for  undoubted  evidence,  to  brand  as  habitual 
affectation.  Let  one  imagine  loveliness  combined 
with  unrestrained  and  unrestrainable  spirit,  illu- 
mined with  passionate  feeling,  and  seconded  by 
a  language  whose  very  accents  are  poetic,  and  a 
manner  frank,  and,  from  its  intrinsic  peculiarities, 
interesting,  and  he  may  have  a  faint  conception  of 
an  Italian  beauty.  Let  him  portray  to  himself  a 
vivid  and  restless  imagination,  over  whose  magic- 
working  energies  no  moral  control  presides,  and 
into  whose  brilliant  images  no  meditative  coloring 
enters,  an  intellect  too  active  and  inconstant  for 
23 


266  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

intense  or  elevated  action,  a  heart  exquisitely 
alive  to  every  faint  impression  of  sympathy  and 
love — in  a  word,  a  spirit  ardent,  imchastened  by 
the  perfect  sentiment  of  religion,  unnerved  by  the 
holy  sinews  of  Christian  principle,  and  yet  glow- 
ing, restless  and  energetic — and  he  may  arrive  at 
an  inadequate,  but  not  incorrect  idea  of  a  species 
of  female  character  in  Italy. 

General  manners  and  morals  are,  indeed,  pro- 
verbially too  loose,  not  to  merit  the  condemnation 
of  the  just  observer.  How  far  this  is  ascribable 
to  the  political  and  physical  peculiarities  of  the 
country,  an  unprejudiced  man  cannot  easily  de- 
clare; while  candor  compels  him  to  confess  that 
these  palliating  causes  exist.  I  have  remarked, 
as  a  striking  proof  of  the  want  of  intellectual 
resources  among  the  Italians,  their  sympathy  for 
one  who,  from  choice  or  necessity,  is  even  tempo- 
rarily solitary.  And  the  importance  which  the 
mere  conventional  acts  of  life,  and  the  occasional 
intervention  of  amusement,  have  acquired  in  their 
estimation,  evinces  the  mournful  absence  of  more 
worthy  and  truly  valuable  employments,  both  for 
the  time  and  intellect. 

Let  it  ever  be  remembered,  in  view  of  the 
present  moral  and  social  condition  of  Italy,  how 
early  the  "fatal  gift  of  beauty"  provoked  those 
predatory  incursions  which  have  so  despoiled  her 
shores,  and  neutralized  her  nationality.  How 
often  have  the  glittering  ranks  of  an  invading 
host  gleamed,  like  a  meteor  of  ill  omen,  amid  the 


MODERN   ITALY. 


267 


mists  of  that  mountain  barrier,  which  nature  has 
interposed  between  her  favorite  land  and  the  sur- 
rounding nations ! 

The  history  of  Italy,  in  the  middle  ages,  is  a 
detail  of  successive  contests,  internal  and  foreign, 
the  only  result  of  which  seems  to  have  been 
the  settling  down  of  the  political  being  of  the 
whole  country  into  a  kind  of  hydra-despotism — 
a  government  shared  by  foreign  princes,  eccle- 
siastical rulers,  the  inhabitants  (and  their  rep- 
resentatives) of  the  several  states.  During  the 
long  twenty  years  of  Napoleon's  domination, 
whether  enduring  the  horrors  of  famine  in  be- 
sieged Genoa,  sacrificing  to  the  Moloch  of  war 
upon  the  plains  of  Lombardy,  or  sending  the 
flower  of  her  army  to  perish  amid  Russian  snows, 
she  was  courting  martyrdom  only  to  secure  a 
change  of  masters,  or  minister  to  the  ambition  of 
the  ascendant.  It  is  perhaps  impossible,  for  a 
visitor  of  the  present  day,  to  realize  that  this 
land  has  indeed  been  the  scene  of  such  constant, 
severe  and  unsuccessful  warfare.  The  peace 
which  has  been  enjoyed  by  other  countries  of 
the  globe — a  peace  no  less  fruitful  of  general 
prosperity  and  general  intellectual  growth,  than 
void  of  the  ever  active  causes  of  commotion — 
with  such  a  tranquillity  Italy  seems  never  to 
have  been  blessed. 

There  are,  indeed,  few  problems  more  difficult 
to  solve  satisfactorily,  than  that  of  the  prospects 
of  this  country,  as  regards  its  vital  interests. 


268  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

The  several  states,  if  united  and  penetrated  by  a 
just  revolutionary  sentiment,  would  advance  to- 
wards independence  as  rapidly  and  certainly  as 
the  moral  circumstances  of  the  people  would  per- 
mit. But  this  is  very  far  from  the  case,  as  the 
experience  of  the  past  and  the  aspect  of  the  pres- 
ent most  clearly  indicate.  There  is  Austria,  on 
one  side,  jealous  of  her  foothold  in  this  devoted 
land;  and,  perhaps,  of  all  their  political  sufferings, 
none  is  more  galling  to  the  Italians,  than  the 
insulting  presence  of  Austrian  soldiery — an  evil 
which  the  Pope,  as  a  measure  of  self-defence,  is 
continually  encouraging.  Then  the  corroding 
internal  divisions,  which  seem  stronger  and  more 
baneful  in  proportion  to  the  motives  for  union, 
are  an  awful  barrier  to  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
whole  country.  Such,  too,  is  the  power  of  the 
priesthood,  and  their  influence  over  the  women, 
that  through  them  the  existence  of  any  liberal 
sentiment  is  almost  immediately  made  known, 
and  its  extension  prevented.  Indeed,  this  mutual 
conspiracy,  for,  viewed  in  reference  to  its  opera- 
tion, it  merits  no  lighter  name,  between  the  two 
classes  of  community  from  which,  according  to 
nature  and  truth,  the  chief  purifying  influence 
should  proceed,  constitutes  the  spring  which  em- 
bitters and  undermines  all  excellence,  individual 
and  political.  •* 

But  a  deeper  cause,  and  one  involving  every 
other,  is  discoverable  in  the  want  of  intelligence 
and  moral  sentiment  among  the  people.  In  short, 


MODERN  ITALY.  269 

while  the  liberalizing  spirit  and  improving  influ- 
ences of  the  age  have  to  some  extent  become 
diffused  in  Italy,  while  we  see  distinct  indications 
of  the  decline  of  ecclesiastical  power  and  igno- 
rant superstition,  and  hear  of  the  king  of  Naples 
visiting  the  English  arid  French  .courts  to  gain 
experience  in  the  art  of  good  government,  we 
cannot  but  feel  that  Italy  is  not  yet  virtuous 
enough  to  maintain  the  forms  or  evolve  the  moral 
glory  of  genuine  national  freedom. 

There  are  times  when  the  American  visitor  is 
simultaneously  impressed  with  the  social  and 
moral  pre-eminence  of  his  native  land,  and  the 
local  attractions  of  this;  and  is  thus  led  to  think 
of  them  in  comparison  with  each  other.  In  such 
a  view  it  is  impossible  to  lose  sight  of  the  several 
causes  which  have  combined  to  form  the  present 
moral  atmosphere  and  intellectual  spirit  of  the 
two  countries.  In  Italy,  ages  of  barbarism  and 
warfare,  gradually  changing  to  a  more  refined 
existence,  produced  a  brilliant  period  of  chivalry 
and  art,  and  then,  amid  despotic  influences, 
acting  upon  a  national  constitution,  and  in  a 
country,  peculiarly  exposed  to  their  worst  effects, 
brought  in  the  present  form  of  society.  With  us 
the  bracing  air  of  freedom,  alive  with  the  higher 
impulses  to  action,  teeming  with  moral  motive, 
elevating  knowledge  and  religious  enthusiasm, 
naturally  created  a  moral  constitution  presenting 
almost  a  complete  contrast.  What  cause  for 
wonder,  if,  destitute  of  a  free  arena,  the  ambition 


270  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

of  a  young  Italian  of  the  present  day  is  merged 
in  a  frivolous  passion  for  amusement? — if,  when 
the  sublime  motive  of  a  national  spirit  is  want- 
ing, men  think  within  the  narrowest  circle  of 
human  sympathies'? — if  the  women,  looked  upon 
as  the  victims,  and  not  aspired  to  as  the  honors 
of  the  other  sex,  cease  to  value  the  virtues  which 
are  their  highest,  but  most  unappreciated  orna- 
ments ? 

To  many  individuals,  perhaps,  the  imaginative, 
the  purely  intellectual  character  of  the  enjoy- 
ments which  attention  and  susceptibility  may 
extract  from  the  scenes  and  agencies  of  Italy,  is 
an  objection.  These  characteristics  are,  indeed, 
at  war  with  the  ultra-utilitarian  spirit  of  the  age. 
Yet  there  is  a  vastness  in  that  source  of  happi- 
ness denominated  the  ideal,  of  which  such  cavil- 
lers are  unaware.  Notwithstanding  the  capacity 
of  suffering  involved  in  a  sensibility  to  this  moral 
incitement,  life  would  be  almost  bereft  of  interest, 
were  the  fountains  of  imaginative  enjoyment 
sealed  to  mortals.  We  know  not,  nor  under  the 
present  condition  of  being  can  we  know,  how 
delicately,  yet  universally,  sentiment  mingles 
with  and  marks  every  pleasure  of  existence.  Its 
commonest  incidents,  its  familiar  routine,  not  less 
than  its  exalted  offices,  insensibly  imbibe  and 
radiate  a  spiritual  coloring — an  interest  not  their 
own,  in  which  consists  the  true  secret  of  the 
delight  they  afford. 


MODERN  ITALY.  271 

There  are  few  countries  better  calculated  to 
nourish  and  bring  out  the  latent  ideal  of  existence 
than  this,  although  here,  as  everywhere,  its 
expansion  must  be  aided.  The  great  intellectual 
tendency  of  the  legitimate  influences  of  Italy  is, 
indeed,  to  maintain  the  supremacy  of  taste,  and 
to  quicken  the  action  of  the  sentiments.  In 
younger  and  more  agitated  communities,  there  is 
much  to  excite  a  vigilant  habit  of  observation, 
and  develope  native  intelligence ;  and  in  scenes 
less  environed  by  associations  of  almost  universal 
interest,  through  a  spirit  of  ambition  or  the  bust- 
ling zeal  of  general  enterprise,  the  mental  powers 
are  variously  and  often  vigorously  unfolded.  But 
in  this,  the  absence  of  all  occasion  of  immediate 
excitement  from  the  agitation  of  any  one  of  the 
great  elements  of  society,  and  the  comparatively 
narrow  circle  in  which  the  machinery  of  com- 
merce and  government  move,  are  circumstances 
which  serve  to  exhibit  in  broad  relief  those  more 
intimate  relations,  and  less  conventional,  and 
therefore  more  interesting  influences,  with  which 
human  society  abounds. 

One  is  singularly  uninterrupted  in  the  endeav- 
or to  brighten  into  poetry  the  pathway  of  his 
being.  He  is  undisturbed,  nay,  he  is  not  unfre- 
quently  encouraged  by  the  atmosphere  in  which 
he  lives.  Tranquillity  of  position — that  pre-requi- 
site  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  poetical  temperament — 
clears  the  way,  and  beautiful  forms  in  nature, 
glorious  productions  of  art,  a  passionate  social 


272  ITALIAN  SKETCH  BOOK. 

character,  time-hallowed  associations,  a  melodi- 
ous language,  and  the  teeming  presence  of  musical 
influences,  are  about  him  to  feed  the  flame  of 
that  enthusiasm  which  idealizes,  and  therefore 
enriches  human  nature. 

There  is,  surely,  ground  for  moral  satisfaction 
in  thus  scanning,  under  the  excitement  of  sym- 
pathy, the  present  scenes  and  intellectual  influ- 
ences of  Italy.  We  stand  among  her  ruins,  eloquent 
of  past  greatness,  and  instinctively  gaze  around 
for  a  lingering  ray  of  existing  glory ;  we  contem- 
plate, with  impatient  sadness,  her  palsied  political 
being,  and  yearn  to  lose  its  memory  in  dwelling 
upon  the  tokens  of  mental  prowess  and  imagina- 
tive expansion ;  and  these  we  find  in  the  beauty 
and  perfection  of  her  literature  and  art.  There 
is  something  singularly  consolatory  in  thus  trac- 
ing out  a  conservative  principle  from  amid  the 
insignia  of  decay  and  prostration.  There  is 
something  quickening  to  the  love  of  humanity, 
something  which  renews  our  faith  in  her  pro- 
gressive tendencies,  in  beholding  the  continuance, 
and  feeling  the  power  of  an  intellectual  dominion, 
a  heritage  of  mind,  an  empire  over  the  heart, 
where  the  more  external  sway  of  the  political 
sceptre  has  been  most  sadly  subverted. 


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